Shelf Space
by FishwichForMyLove
Summary: A collection of ficlets/one-shots from my tumblr, some of which will be based off requests. Rating and content will vary, but all will be USUK/UKUS
1. Glow

**Warnings: Profanity. **

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><p>"Hey, Arthur?"<p>

"What?"

It was too dark out on the deck to see Arthur's face, but Alfred could make out the tiny glow of his cigarette every now and then. The bass from the music inside the house was making the half-broken pool chair vibrate under Alfred's ass, and he could slowly feel his legs turn into jelly with the help of his third beer. Or maybe it was his fifth.

"How do you know when you love someone?"

Arthur coughed violently and stepped away from the deck railing, scowling face coming into view from the bleak light in the kitchen. He'd put in his lip ring for the party. It was fake, one of those shitty clip-on deals and Alfred always made fun of him for having it, but now he was starting to think it looked kind of nice.

"What the fuck are you on about? Finish your beer."

"No, I'm being serious."

"Ah, Christ." Arthur let his cigarette dangle from his lips and sat on the edge of the pool chair, pushing Alfred's legs to the side. "This isn't about that Chinese bird you've been going around with, is it?"

Alfred took a swig of his beer to make Arthur happy, but he personally thought it tasted like piss. He didn't like drinking, but he didn't like not drinking if it meant Arthur would call him a pussy.

"Mei's not Chinese. And no it's not. I'm really asking, so don't be an asshole."

_Don't be an asshole_, Arthur muttered indignantly under his breath, then smacked Alfred's stomach. "What are you asking me all this love shit for? How would I know? Go ask Francis. He's queer on that romance shit."

Alfred set his jaw defiantly. "I'm asking you."

With a heavy sigh, Arthur went back to his cigarette for a few minutes, legs bouncing up and down from the cold. The pool chair creaked and Alfred thought they might bust it, but he didn't care enough to move.

"You wanna know what I think?" Arthur said quietly, flicking a glance toward Alfred. "I think that you know you love somebody when they can come at you with all that shit they say in the movies or whatever and you believe them. Like, they tell you that you're the most wonderful person they've ever met or that they would die for you or that you're beautiful and you don't laugh. You don't laugh or shake your head or tell them to fuck off. You just believe them. That's when you know you love someone." He flipped up the collar of his jacket, Alfred's jacket to be exact, and shrugged. "That's what I think, anyway. Since you're asking."

"Huh." Alfred nodded, but didn't stop staring at Arthur, who was very resolutely ignoring him. He watched as Arthur took another drag on his cigarette, lolled his tongue over his lip ring, bounced his legs some more.

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, WHAT Alfred?"

"I think you're kind of beautiful.

Arthur didn't say anything. He didn't laugh, he didn't shake his head, he didn't tell Alfred to fuck off. He just stood and dropped his cigarette, stomping it to death on the wood of the deck with his scuffed up boots. Arthur reached out and pulled open the glass door leading into the kitchen, and for a moment before he walked inside, the screaming music shattered the relative quiet.

"Finish your beer, Alfred."

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><p><strong>AN: If anyone is ever interested in making a request for a ficlet or even a full length story, feel free to inquire on my tumblr. There is a link in my profile. **


	2. Obedience

**A/N: Request on tumblr for nobleman Arthur and peasant/servant Alfred teasing each other, preferably within the context of a magical/fantasy AU.**

**Warnings: Some sexual content. **

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><p>There were two things that Lord Arthur Kirkland found hypnotizing about his servant: he was disgustingly handsome and he was stupid. Perhaps it was only because these two traits were so opposite of any that Arthur himself possessed, and just like anything he didn't have, he yearned to call them his own, even if only vicariously through a low-born lover.<p>

Alfred had come to the manor from one of the small villages, dirty, rude, and begging for a job, and if it had been up to Arthur's head of staff at the time, the boy would have been sent off to the stables immediately. But Arthur had never liked his head of staff very much, so he fired him and took Alfred on as a personal attendant. He didn't need one, and he almost didn't want one, but one look at the peasant boy and he felt he had no option. This was something, _someone_, he had to have.

And he was disgustingly handsome, even before Arthur had ordered him bathed and dressed in the house colours. All blonde hair and blue eyes and white teeth, looking to be the pinnacle of masculine health; Arthur would have been envious if he hadn't been busy being smitten. Yet for all his physical charm, Alfred was undoubtedly stupid. Not the oppressively ignorant and boorish kind of stupid, but the kind of stupid that made Alfred seem relaxed and friendly in any situation, the kind of stupid born of an eternally sunny disposition. Arthur _did_ envy that, and wished he could be so lucky as to never worry about things bigger than himself.

There was a knock on his chamber door and Arthur jumped, nearly knocking over a candle that he had drawn far too close to the pages of he grimoire he was trying to translate. Before he could even call out and permit entry, Alfred was pushing through the door, carrying a wooden tray.

"You haven't eaten in while. I figured you might be hungry."

Arthur pushed aside his work and let Alfred set the tray in front of him. "You can't just barge in here without permission, you know."

Alfred shrugged, eyes looking tired behind the neat spectacles he had begun to have need for.

Letting his servant's flippant attitude be for the moment, Arthur shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth. He was hungry; starving in fact. If it wasn't for Alfred, his eating schedule would probably be worse than it already was. "You look exhausted."

A sly smile flitted across Alfred's mouth. "Well, I was kept up rather late, milord."

"Watch your tongue, Alfred." Regardless of his position, having it known he had a relationship with another man, and a peasant at that, would make Arthur's life vastly more complicated. He didn't need Alfred being so candid about it.

"That's not what you said last night, milord."

"Alfred!" Arthur screeched, slamming his hand down on the table.

"Aww, don't get mad, Arthur. I'm just teasing you. Besides, no one's around. It's just us." Alfred was doing that thing with his eyes that made it difficult for Arthur to be mad at him, and butterflies exploded wildly in his stomach.

"Fine. Lock the door at least, though."

Alfred did as he was told (for once), then pulled over a chair to sit next to Arthur. He placed a cheery kiss on Arthur's cheek with a hum, then let the young lord finish his meal in silence. Arthur got about half way through the bowl of stew and had only managed to eat a few bites of bread before he found himself full and pushed the tray away. Alfred pulled a concerned face and placed a hand on Arthur's thigh.

"I wish you'd eat more than that. You're getting skinny again."

Arthur pushed the hand off his thigh, but held it on the table, not wanting to outright reject his love. "And you get fat too easily. It all balances out."

"I do not!" Alfred pouted, and his lower lip stuck out so absurdly that Arthur couldn't help leaning forward to give him a tiny kiss. "And anyway, I'm being serious. I don't like it when you get like this." The hand was back on Arthur's leg, another feeling along his waist and ribcage indecently. Alfred smirked again. "There's not enough to grab on to."

Scoffing, Arthur shoved Alfred off of him and took a drink of his watered down wine, his face suddenly feeling too hot. "You can't talk to me like that. You're too familiar."

"Well, I would hope so," Alfred whispered alluringly, then took Arthur's chin in his hand so that he was forced to look at him. "And I'll talk to you however I please, _milord_."

Arthur almost caved under the defiant gaze of his servant, finding his wilfulness all too intoxicating, but he held his head up high despite the hand still holding it. "I'll have your tongue cut out", he said haughtily.

Alfred clucked his tongue as if to show it off. "No, I thought we already established you like it too much."

Holding his breath, Arthur was beginning to lose control of himself as Alfred leaned forward until their mouths were only millimetres apart. His eyes slipped closed as he waited to be kissed, but the contact never came, and Arthur couldn't let go of his pride enough to close the distance between them.

"Fine. Then I'll do this." He focused himself for a moment and then snapped his fingers, feeling a small burst of magic course through him.

Alfred opened his mouth to retaliate, but no sound came out. A few more tries yielded nothing but absurd gaping and his expression soured as Arthur laughed. Alfred pointed to his throat pleadingly, but Arthur shook his head.

"No. I like you better this way, I think. Besides, it serves you right for being so forward, and for forgetting who's in charge." Arthur smiled teasingly and took another sip of his wine. Alfred didn't understand anything about magic. He was low-born and couldn't even see the most common of garden faeries, never mind the more mythical beasts that roamed the land. It was a point of pride that Arthur could still awe and irritate his lover with his power.

Alfred pouted again, and reached for Arthur. Laughing, Arthur got up and sat across his lap, looping his arms around his neck.

"You're too sweet when you pout."

Shaking his head as if to insist he wasn't pouting, Alfred buried his face in the nook between Arthur's neck and shoulders.

"Are you sorry, then?"

Alfred nodded.

"I'm not sure I believe you."

Alfred bucked his knees so that Arthur was jolted suddenly, scowling even as Arthur was rolling his eyes and stroking his cheek. "Such a brute." Taking the time to admire Alfred's face while he as still and quiet for a change, Arthur ran his fingertips over his cheek bones, down his slim, straight nose and over the soft, bowed skin of his lips. Alfred's eyes slipped closed, and Arthur imagined he would have hummed in contentment if he could make any sound at all. He ran his fingers through the hair at Alfred's temples, letting it fall over his face before brushing it back behind his ears and scratching his nails gently against his scalp.

"You're in need of a haircut."

Alfred gave Arthur a shrewd look and snapped his fingers mockingly.

"No, I'm not going to magick off your hair, love. I wouldn't risk that."

Alfred gestured wildly at his mouth and nearly dumped Arthur off of his lap.

"Yes, alright, I see your point. Still, it is nice to have you quiet for once. What do I get in return for giving you your voice back?"

Arthur had barely finished his question before Alfred's mouth was moving savagely against his own, mostly tongue and teeth and very little skill. Neck being assaulted next, Arthur could do little but hold onto the broad, twisting shoulders as he was unceremoniously lifted and dumped onto his bed. Alfred's hands were everywhere, hot and callused and fumbling, but still enough to make Arthur forget that he was supposed to be Lord Kirkland and that he was most certainly not supposed to let servant boys fuck him, no matter how handsome and stupid they were. Finding his own voice before he could betray his pleasure with a moan, Arthur pushed Alfred's head away and looked him seriously in the eye.

"As long as you've learned your lesson. "You do know your place don't you?"

Alfred nodded vehemently as he unlaced the front of Arthur's hose. Focusing just enough, Arthur snapped his fingers again.

Looking up from between Arthur's legs, Alfred grinned toothily and licked his lips.

"It's right here, milord."


	3. With Deepest Apologies to Shakespeare

**Warnings: Profanity**

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><p>Alfred was chewing his pen again. Not "his" as in Alfred's own personal pen, but "his" as in the pen Arthur had lent him during Chemistry lab two weeks ago. It was destroyed on the top, a mass of crinkly plastic and spit, but with little else to keep his attention other than a group presentation at the front of the classroom, Alfred seemed to be enjoying his- Arthur's- pen immensely.<p>

And Arthur couldn't stop staring. Frankly, he blamed the English teacher for his current predicament. The woman had insisted on arranging the desks into little groups, as if her students were seven instead of seventeen, and it made it all too easy for Arthur to tilt his head ever so slightly to the left and watch as Alfred devoured writing utensils, or slept in class, or leaned his cheek into his hand and looked out the window or ran his fingers through his hair or did all manner of absurdly commonplace, but alluring nonetheless, activities. Arthur could almost admit to himself that what had once been a fascinated repulsion had evolved into a rabid schoolboy crush, but that couldn't possibly be; Alfred was good-looking and relatively popular and teased him and treated him like dirt and borrowed his pens without giving them back. There would be no point in entertaining the idea of feelings if they were both unrealistic and unrequited.

The group finished their presentation and Alfred dropped the pen from his mouth and clapped loudly in mockery. He was always acting up in this class. Arthur knew all too well from being forced to peer-edit his essays that Alfred had no idea what was going on half of the time, but the teacher rarely chastised the handsome idiot because he was... well, handsome. And charming. And clever in a roundabout sort of way. At any rate, Arthur had to snap himself out of his daze, horrified to find a tiny string of drool starting at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, we still have about fifteen minutes left, so let's pick up where we left off in _Much Ado About Nothing_," Ms. Kale said, and more than half the class groaned. Arthur himself was not thrilled, thinking it ridiculous that they had to read the play out loud in class instead of just being assigned pages each night for homework.

Ignoring the groans, Ms. Kale opened her copy of the play. "Act five, scene two, right where Beatrice enters. Do I have any volunteers to read Beatrice?" She looked expectantly at all the girls, but most of them seemed to be busy looking for their book in their bags or pretending to find the correct page. "Anyone?"

Wincing, Arthur raised his hand. He just wanted this all to be over with and he'd rather get laughed at for reading a girl's part (though it was not the first time a boy in the class had been made to do so) then have to sit through what was sure to be a painful reading on someone else's part.

"Thank you, Arthur."

Most of the class seemed disinterested in what was happening, but Alfred let out a boisterous snigger.

"Ah, good. Thank you for volunteering to read Benedick, Mr. Jones. We'll start with your line."

"Wha-? Hey! I-"

Alfred was silenced by Ms. Kale's harsh look and peered at his book, squinting slightly behind his glasses as he tried to find his place.

"Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called thee?" he fumbled, then muttered under his breath, "Oh God, what even?"

Two of the girls in Alfred's group tittered and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yea, signoir, and depart when you bid me."

Arthur spoke confidently. He'd had a few parts in school plays and was no stranger to public speaking thanks to his role on the Student Council. Alfred, on the other hand, seemed to be having trouble with even the simplest of lines, tripping over his own tongue and laughing at himself .

"...thereupon I will kiss thee," he recited, and someone wolf-whistled, which sent the entire class into chaos for a moment until Ms. Kale could refocus their attentions.

Most certainly not thinking about kissing Alfred, Arthur barked out his next line, his voice sounding weird and loud in his own ears. "Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed."

"Oh, snap!" Alfred called and even Ms. Kale couldn't help her smile. Bolstered by the class' reaction, Alfred began reading with increased gusto, even looking up from the page every now and then to look at Arthur across the room. Then he stopped for a moment, reading ahead and then locking eyes with Arthur, a twisted grin on his face. "And, I pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?"

Something in the way he was being stared at made Arthur think that his in-class observations of the boy had not gone unnoticed. Surely Alfred couldn't have any idea that Arthur made sport of watching him stick school supplies in his mouth or that his fierce blush was born of something other than supreme annoyance. Alfred was denser than cement; there was no way he knew what he was doing.

"For them all together; which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them." If his voice had sounded too loud only moments ago, now it sounded too high and strained. As Arthur read the next line on the page, he gulped and tried to return Alfred's bold look. "But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?"

Alfred's face fell and, much to Arthur's surprise and confusion, his cheeks and ears started turning red. Perhaps the joke had gone too far now that it was turned around and Alfred was getting a taste of his own medicine. Still, there was something peculiar about the way his voice dropped and he kept his eyes glued to the page.

"I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will."

"In spite of your heart I think; alas poor heart!" Arthur tried to continue reading while still watching Alfred, growing more confused as he shrunk down into his shoulders little by little and bit his lip. Embarrassment seemed to have overtaken Alfred suddenly, and Arthur didn't understand what he could have possibly done to illicit such a reaction.

Looking up again, Alfred gave a half shrug and a shy smile. "Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably."

Arthur forgot to look at his book for his next line. He just sat with his mouth hanging open, unable to look away until the bell rang and he jumped like a frightened rabbit. Shoving his belongings into his book-bag as quickly as he could physically manage, Arthur all but ran from the classroom, bumping a few people on the way out, and refusing to turn around when he heard someone calling his name.

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><p>The next few weeks seemed to bring about a revolution in Alfred's attitude toward Arthur. He didn't throw wadded up pieces of binder paper at the back of his head or call him "Queen Elizabeth" or ask to copy his homework.<p>

Instead he started sitting at the same table at lunch, and trying to strike up normal conversation, a task that Arthur found difficult given his sudden and unexplained proclivity for stuttering. Alfred started doing inane things like buying Arthur sodas out of the vending machine, or asking him if he would help with his English homework, and he even gave Arthur a brand new pen after apologising for the abduction of his last one. Arthur thought he might keel over and die at any moment because his heart simply would not stop bashing itself against his ribcage every time Alfred so much as said hello to him in the halls. The mere fact that Alfred was now acknowledging him in public without adding the word "faggot" to the end of his greetings was cause for suspicion.

One Friday afternoon, Arthur retreated to the comfort and seclusion of the campus library, avoiding the after school frenzy and sitting in one of the shabby bean bag chairs in the reading lounge with his headphones on. He waited half an hour before venturing out into the cold, dismayed to find the beginnings of snow floating lazily down from the grey clouds. Zipping his jacket up and shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, Arthur hunched against the chill and started his walk home.

Four blocks from the school, Arthur was frightened by the blare of a car horn behind him. He removed his headphones and turned around, prepared to flip off whoever was driving, but froze when he saw Alfred's beat-up blue truck pulling up to the curb.

"You walkin' home?" Alfred shouted through the rolled down window.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Arthur responded cattily.

"Lemme give you a ride."

Arthur turned around and kept walking. "No, thank you. I'm fine." Even with increase in snow fall, Arthur could feel the back of his neck burning up and he was glad the hood of his jacket would hide his blush.

There was a gravelly sound as Alfred tried to creep along next to Arthur.

"C'mon man, it's snowing! You don't want to walk in this shit."

Turning around viciously, Arthur crossed his arms. He'd had enough of playing games.

"Why do you care anyway! I don't get you! You treat me like fuck all this whole year and _now_ you're trying to be friendly? What do you want from me, Alfred?"

Alfred visibly flinched, but recovered himself quickly. "Okay, yeah, fair enough, but can we talk about this inside the car, please? It's fucking freezing."

Making a noise of exasperated disgust, Arthur resumed his walk at a faster pace, not even completely sure himself why he was so upset.

"Aww, shit," he heard Alfred swear angrily as he hit the gas and caught up to Arthur again. "Arthur, listen!"

"WHAT?" Arthur stopped and flung his arms out, waiting for whatever bullshit Alfred was going to try and feed him. There had to be a catch. Boys like Alfred were not nice to boys like Arthur unless it would benefit them somehow.

Closing his eyes and taking a breath, Alfred drew his eyebrows together in an expression of deep concentration, as if he was trying to remember something incredibly important. Then, with voice, cracking a little, he stared right into Arthur's sour face and began reciting.

"Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; no less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; as much as child e'er loved, or father found; a love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; beyond all manner of so much I love you."

Arthur didn't know what to say. He knew what Alfred was _trying_ to say, but he couldn't believe it. There was no way in Hell. So instead of being sucked in by Alfred's pitiable expression, Arthur turned his cynicism to full blast and put his hands on his hips.

"That's terribly taken out of context, you know. It doesn't make sense, with the bit about the-"

"I know!" Alfred interrupted. "But it's the closest to what I wanted to say."

"It's not even a romantic play, it's- "

_"King Lea_r, I know. I had to read a whole bunch of other plays before I found the right words."

"That... must have been terribly boring for you," Arthur said dryly, but his heart was in his throat and he felt light-headed.

Alfred smiled self-deprecatingly. "Nah, some of them weren't so bad. Shakespeare's kinda cool once you get past all the "thee" and "thou" crap. I just... didn't know how else to impress you. Nothing seemed to work and I... shit, man, I really like you, okay?"

Raising up and down on his toes a few times, Arthur puffed out his too hot cheeks. "So... what now?"

"How about I take you home first? Or we can talk, maybe? Not in Shakespeare-talk, but like normal-people-talk."

Arthur contemplated walking away for a moment, then looked up and down the street to see if anyone was around. Reluctantly, but with excitement bubbling in his chest, he opened the passenger door and slid into the seat, shooting Alfred a shy smile.

"I don't think anything about this is going to be normal."

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><p><strong>AN: Obviously I don't own anything written by Shakespeare. But it's all public domain, so I guess it's alright. **


	4. 99 Cents

**Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Also, this is a little... weird. I'm not really sure what to label it, so just... proceed with an open mind/caution.**

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><p>"Are you sure you don't want me to help?"<p>

"Naw, I think I can do it. You just sit there," America called from England's bathroom, his voice sounding tinny from the reverb.

England fussed with the wrinkles on the comforter, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he waited for America to appear. He'd wanted this, it was his request, and America had been so kind as to go along with it, but England was still fearful that he would take it badly once they got started.

"Man, I do not know how chicks do this every day," America laughed, and England fought the urge to peek into the bathroom to monitor his progress.

"Just make sure you go inside the lines, as it were."

"Yeah, I know that! It's just weird."

America was quiet for a few seconds, then he whined, "And this is cheap shit, too. You couldn't at least buy something that wasn't going to fuck my mouth up?"

England grunted and rolled his eyes. "Why was I going to spend money on something we'd only use once?"

"How do you know that? We might do it again. We've done weirder."

"Do... do you like it?" England twitched in anticipation when he heard a small click from inside the bathroom and America emerged.

"Maybe. I think I look kinda hot. What do you think?"

_Hot _was an understatement. England found himself biting his own lip yearningly as he took in the sight of his lover done up with the smooth red lipstick. America had done it perfectly, not smearing or over-exaggerating a single curve of his slightly bowed mouth, and the result was more arousing that England had ever imagined it would be. He wasn't sure when the fantasy had been solidified in his mind, but there was something about the cherry shade that had always appealed to England, something bold and defiant, but sensual. In his view, there was nothing feminine or odd about it, just the highlighted eroticism of America's mouth glistening ruby red from a tube of cheap lipstick.

"That's... yes... uh, yes."

"That good, huh?"

England nodded and reached out for America, wanting to taste the vibrance for himself. America surged forward enthusiastically, and England pulled away, holding his chin in his hand.

"No be, careful, I don't want you to smear."

"I thought that was the point."

England struggled to focus as America licked his bottom lip and the colour became dewy with his spit. "I want it on me, but I don't want you to look cheap. Leave marks, but be careful."

Nodding, America allowed England to guide him into a gentle kiss. There was no aggression, no overly passionate work with the lips or tongue, just the simple pressure of a slick mouth against his own and England's head swam with the knowledge that every second of contact was transferring more and more of the sweet pigment to his own lips. He pulled back for a breath and let America continue at his own pace, moaning softly in his throat as kisses were pressed to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks, and his jaw. America was just about to start in on his neck, hands skimming up and down his sides, when England pulled back.

"Reapply."

"Wha- oh, okay." America's glasses were knocked a little askew and he straightened them to dig in his jeans pockets for the tube of lipstick. "Don't think I didn't see the name, by the way."

Grinning coyly, England took the lipstick and opened it, holding America's face still with one hand while he daubed more of the red crème onto his mouth. It was vain, but part of the reason he had chosen this particular brand was for the name: Redcoat. It was his fantasy, after all, so he figured he was allowed to be a little narcissistic.

Tossing the tube aside, England let America push him back onto the bed, lying still and enjoying the feeling of his warm fingers as they popped his shirt buttons open and rubbed little circles into his chest and belly. More fiery, but neat kisses were trailed down his torso, one around a nipple after a harsh bite, another on his ribcage, another around his bellybutton and more still at every place in between. England was squirming, his stomach muscles clenching in reaction to each feather light touch and he had to fist the bedding by his head to avoid the temptation of pulling at America's hair.

"Take off your glasses," he commanded breathily. America did as he was told, and England felt a rush of raw desire. He looked younger, more tawdry and tousled without the facade of his neat frames, adding to the allure of the tender lips glistening with pigment and saliva. America leaned down to kiss England on the mouth again, this time more aggressively but still cognisant of his orders, and he worked one-handed to get England's pants off. He had managed to get them half way down his thighs when England pushed at his shoulders and sat up.

"I want to see."

After a few moments of fumbling and figuring out the best vantage point, England was divested of the rest of his clothing, sitting in the V of America's spread legs, back to chest, facing the vanity mirror on the wall opposite his bed. He could see himself from the hips up, see every scarlet mark America had left on his body and the slow movement of America's hand as he reached around to jack him off. Head buried in the crook of his neck, America nuzzled his skin, the tickle of his hair making England shiver. England's eyes wandered over the lipstick stains and he panted as America picked up the pace of his stroking. He closed his eyes and tossed his head back, he rest of his body following suit until America was forced to roll out from underneath him.

England enjoyed the quiet and the lack of sensation on his body, jumping when the mouth was back, this time on the inside of his left thigh. America's breath felt wet and hot on his cock but he reached out blindly to stop him.

"Reapply."

America did it himself this time, impatiently, but precisely. England sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, forcing America to kneel before him as he sucked him off. If he had thought the kiss marks on his body were arousing, the flushed imprint on the tip of his cock, visible for only a moment before it disappeared behind crimson lips, was the most erotic thing England had ever seen.

He gripped America's shoulders, whispering half incoherent encouragements, watching as the lipstick and spit left odd pink streaks and rings up and down the shaft of his cock. He wanted to close his eyes and enjoy the sinful textures of America's mouth and tongue, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the stretched lips bobbing back and forth and the wide blue eyes staring up at him with complete adoration.

England felt himself teeter on the edge of orgasm, and barely managed to pull his cock out of America's mouth and get a hold of his chin before he came. America understood what he wanted immediately and closed his mouth, a strange hybrid between a moan and whimper rumbling in his throat as England let his cum drip across his lips and down his chin.

They were silent for a while, England panting and stroking his fingers through America's sweaty hair, and America just sitting back on his knees and smiling even as the cum mixed with the lipstick to produce a thick, pink mess. After he felt strong enough to stand, England padded into the bathroom, motioning for America to stay where he was, and located a package of baby wipes under his sink. When he returned, he wiped America's face and mouth clean of the makeup and semen, clucking soothingly when America flinched because of the cold, damp cloth.

Finished with his task, England wordlessly invited America to lie down with him in the bed, curling into one another despite the fact that England was completely naked and covered in lipstick and America was still fully clothed.

"You don't want me to clean yours off?" America asked, kissing England's hairline and wrapping an arm around his waist.

"No," England replied, and snuggled under America's chin. "I think I'll keep it a while yet."


	5. Routine

**A/N: Request by thecheshireandphantom on tumblr for UKUS in the aftermath of a horror movie.**

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><p>England knew the routine all too well. There would be wailing and clutching and scratching, he would end up bruised and tired with no hope of a restful night ahead, and worst of all, he'd actually have to sit through the type of film America liked to see. Granted, America (the country, not the man, or man-child, as England tended to think of him) had made some decent and perhaps even artistically sound films, but those were not to be the ones England had the privilege of sitting through on the occasions that his complete dolt of a boyfriend decided they should have a proper "date night."<p>

"Date night", England knew, meant one of two things: either dinner out followed by sex, or going to the movies. It it was the latter, there was further bifurcation in the potential outcomes: if it was an action movie, America would probably start getting handsy in the car on the way back and then there would be sex, but if it was a horror flick, as was the case on this particular date night, then England was doomed to become a sexless human shield.

It was actually quite fun to see America overreact in a public setting; in a theatre, his screeches and jumps were shared by the audience at large, and England could people watch if the film was boring, as it often was. There were very few things in the supernatural world that scared or shocked England any more, and even the most high tech and high budget projects did a poor job of capturing the true terror of their all-too-real inspirations. He never told America that, of course, since he did want to be able to live his life without the other permanently attached to his hip in fear, as was the case now that they had arrived back at the tiny New York apartment and England stood at the stove, waiting for milk to heat up.

This was the second step in the routine. Panic was always quelled with something chocolatey: if it was warm out, it would be ice cream in an ugly coffee mug in the shape of Darth Vader's helmet, and if it was cold out, it was hot chocolate that England had to work diligently not to scald and spoil past drinkability. America watched as England stirred the milk, chin heavy on England's shoulder and arms loosely linked around his waist.

"Can you get me the cocoa powder, love?"

America reached over to open a cabinet, but hesitated, fingers recoiling back into an unsure fist.

"What's wrong?" England looked over his shoulder to see America's face going pale yet again and his eyebrows drawn together in discomfort. He clucked his tongue as he realized what had America so worked up, and shook him off to retrieve the cocoa himself.

"Nothing's going to leap out at you from the cupboards, America, I promise."

America flinched when the hinges squeaked and leaned against the counter as close to England as he could. "Shit, don't say stuff like that! You don't know, it could happen."

Shaking his head as he started to whisk the powder into the saucepan, England used his best "rational and soothing" voice as he said for the hundredth time, "There's nothing living in your apartment, love. We've been through this, remember?"

"Yeah, okay. But you'd tell me if there was something, right? You'd know, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would know, and yes, I would tell you, and yes, I would find a way to get rid of it." England was subjected to more back to chest cuddling after he located the vanilla extract and put a generous dose of it into the cocoa. "I don't understand why you're so upset over this film. There weren't any monsters or aliens. It was all psychological."

"Ugh, exactly! Demon possession is, like, a whole 'nother bag of dicks." England snorted, not quite sure what the turn of phrase meant, and America whined in his ear. "Seriously! It's not like you can see it coming! There's no warning. You just wake up one day and you're nothing but a meat suit for some nasty spirit thing!" He buried his face in the crook of England's neck and shoulder, having scared himself again, then peered into the saucepan. "Hey. Don't burn it."

"Tch, I'm not! Get cups." England set to searching the back of the cupboard above the stove where America kept all his sugar and honey until he found the bags with three types of marshmallows. He had once foolishly put a single large one in America's drink, only to be lectured on proper marshmallow usage. The big ones were for toasting, and making s'mores and eating straight out of the bag, while the little ones were to be used in hot beverages because they dissolved better. The third bag was an assortment of disturbingly rainbow coloured marshmallows, and England never did quite understand what their use could possibly be, and frankly, he didn't want to find out.

America visibly warred with himself again before gritting his teeth and opening the cupboard with the dishes, reaching in as fast as he could and slamming the door shut once he had managed to snag two coffee cups. He placed them on the counter with a sigh of relief then fidgeted and flailed like he was covered in ants, laughing at himself a little.

The cocoa was enjoyed in silence, America leaning back on the counter and England standing between his spread legs, a position that was bit odd for drinking, but gave America the option of holding on to him every now and then. England took the empty cups and the saucepan and put them in the sink, but America stopped him before he could turn on the faucet.

"Leave it. I wanna... I wanna go to bed."

The third step in the routine was always kissing. Not the passionate, evolving type of kissing that led to sex, but the sugary sweet kind that England found both frustrating and pleasant. It was not an easy task to get into pyjamas and brush teeth and plug in the rocket-shaped night-light while leaving tiny, fluttering kisses here and there, and being repaid in kind, but England always managed it.

At last, America was curled up with his head on England's lap, covered in his "protection blankie", breathing slowing down as the sensation of fingers stroking through his hair lulled him toward sleep. England didn't particularly like having to sleep sitting up, but it was better than the alternative of being kicked or crushed when America would inevitably have a nightmare.

"Feet tucked in?" England asked, knowing how paranoid America got about body parts sticking out in places where monsters could grab them. America nodded from inside his blanket cocoon and yawned.

"Thanks. For putting up with all this, I mean."

England chuckled softly and tucked some America's hair behind his ear. "Well, it's my job to protect you from all the bad things, isn't it? You know I'd never let anything hurt you, not even your own foolishness."

"Yeah, you're pretty badass."

"Oh, hush. Go to sleep."

The fourth and final step of the routine happened without America's knowledge. The fact of the matter was that for all of England's reassurances, he knew he couldn't possibly protect America from everything terrible and scary in the world, whether supernatural or all too tangible and dangerous. A prayer ghosted across England's lips, half said aloud in the glow of the tacky night-light while America snored gently in his laps. An ancient prayer, a charm almost, in a language that was older than England cared to remember.

It was all a routine, but what happened after it was finished was never certain. America might be terrified of movie monsters and scary stories and the shadows of his own childish imagination, but there were things in the world- things seen and unseen- that could not be controlled. That, more than anything, scared England.


	6. Everything's Alright

**Warnings: Implied drug use; sexual content that may potentially be viewed as dubious or without consent.**

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><p>"Fucking Christ, WHAT?" Alfred hollered groggily as he threw open the door to his dorm room and glared into the half-lit hallway. He rubbed at his eyes and squinted, focus fuzzy and surreal without his glasses. No one was standing outside his door, which is exactly how it should be at 4am on a Friday night. But it also didn't make sense since only moments before there had been loud banging, and high pitched drunken giggling. Alfred could hear the stairwell door slam shut with a metallic blast, and he guessed that whoever had decided to disrupt his sleep had fled. They'd left him a little gift, though- if an obviously wasted Arthur Kirkland sitting against the wall at a wayward angle with a Post-It note on his forehead could be considered a gift.<p>

Alfred groaned, and a second later, so did Arthur, but his was more sickly than frustrated and Alfred crouched down to look at his face. He didn't stink of alcohol like he usually did, but there was scary, unfocused filminess to his eyes. Alfred squinted again to make out the writing on the Post-It note, then frowned. All it said was "For Alfred, Enjoy!" in all-too-familiar handwriting.

"Beilschmidt", he growled and ripped it off Arthur's forehead then flicked him in the spot where it had been. "Hey. You drunk?"

Arthur smiled stupidly and shook his head "no".

"Yeah, sure. Wait here, I'm getting my keys and then I'm taking your ass home."

"Can't."

"Oh yeah? Why not."

"No keys."

"I'm going to _get_ my keys."

Arthur shook his head and laughed. "No, _I_ don't have keys."

"Gilbert will let you in."

"No. He's not going home. He's got a _girl_."

Alfred swore angrily, then kicked at Arthur's knee. "Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do with you, then?"

He was surprised by the filthy giggle Arthur let loose, and it was only then Alfred realized that he wasn't slurring his words like he usually did when he was drunk off his ass. A tiny burst of panic let loose in Alfred's gut.

"What you usually do with me, I guess." Arthur lolled his head to the side in what might have been intended as a coy gesture, but mostly just looked sloppy and stupid. "Y'know... fuck?"

"We don't do that." Alfred's voice was hard-edged and warning, but Arthur didn't take the hint and just giggled again. "What have you been telling Gilbert?"

Trying to stand and failing, Arthur ended up on his hands and knees looking up with an almost childish expression. "Just that we fuck sometimes."

"Shut up!" Alfred bellowed, then hauled Arthur up by the collar of his shirt and dragged him back into his room, releasing him with a shove. The last thing he needed was Arthur waking everyone on the floor up and saying things like that. Alfred had already been in trouble with the RA for a noise violation once, so there was no way a wasted moron babbling about fucking in the middle of the hall was going to put him on anyone's good side.

Arthur stumbled, but caught himself against one of posts of Alfred's bed. He looked offended at the rough treatment, but Alfred didn't care and locked the door.

"We do NOT fuck, Arthur. Do you hear me? We don't."

There was more stumbling and then an awkward attempt at groping. Arthur managed to loop his arms around Alfred's neck, forcing him to take most of his weight. He put his mouth up next to Alfred's ear, breath so hot and wet that Alfred squirmed in disgust. "Then what do _you _call it when my mouth's on your cock, hmm?"

"A mistake." Alfred tried to get away, but Arthur's grip was too strong.

"You've made a lot of mistakes, then." Arthur said teasingly, pulling away to smirk at Alfred.

"I'm not gay."

"Don't have to be."

"I'm not bi, either."

"So what? It's just fucking. You just have to like fucking to fuck."

Alfred shook his head, trying to keep his anger in check. He had fucked Arthur. Or at least been fucked, numerous times, usually some kind of intoxicated and always with deep self-loathing. He didn't know why he let it keep happening, why he just laid there and went with it, but it was the same thing every time. Alfred would swear he wasn't gay, and Arthur would tell him it didn't matter and then there would be hands and mouths and sweat and terrible, disgusting, beautiful sensations. This time would be different, though, so Alfred changed the subject, gripping Arthur's face unkindly with one hand until Arthur was slightly fish-faced.

"What did you take, Arthur?"

"M'not drunk."

"But you took something. What was it?"

Arthur shrugged and pulled his face out of Alfred's grasp, rubbing at his cheeks grumpily.

"You don't know, or you're not going to tell me?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Goddamit, Arthur, why? Why do you keep doing this?"

"Because I have to feel good _sometime_," Arthur spat bitterly.

Alfred felt the pit of his stomach clench in something close to pity, but he kept his face impassive. He couldn't afford to get emotionally invested in Arthur. Things were already complicated enough.

"I'm going back to bed. Don't throw up on anything."

Brushing past Arthur cruelly, Alfred rolled into his blankets and faced toward the wall, squeezing his eyes shut in the hopes that that would be the last of it. It wasn't, though, and Arthur pawed weakly at his shoulder.

"Where am I going to sleep?"

"The floor."

"You're so mean to me," Arthur cooed, as if it were more a compliment than an insult.

Alfred ignored him, but it was difficult to lie completely still when Arthur was forcing his way under the blankets, one hand trying to get inside Alfred's sweatpants shamelessly. There was a brief struggle and Arthur almost fell off the bed before he managed to toss the blankets aside and flip Alfred over so he was on top of his hips.

"Don't you want to feel good, too?" he simpered and tried to wiggle around seductively.

Balling his fists up into the sheets, Alfred looked back at the wall. "I hate you."

"That's okay. I do, too."

Alfred didn't get a chance to ask if Arthur meant that he hated him or he hated himself, but it didn't matter once Arthur's hands were on his cock, pulling and rubbing, too dry and cold, but good enough for Alfred to get hard with little work. Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to feel the pleasure of the motions without thinking about the source. This is how it always was- Arthur would do all the work, and Alfred would just lie still with his hands safely tucked away and his head turned to the side to avoid anything but the most necessary of contacts to achieve orgasm. If he lied to himself well enough, he could almost pretend it was nothing more than masturbation, that there was no one on top of him whispering vile encouragements or moaning or screaming. It was just him and the electricity in his groin and the strain of his muscles and the pounding of his heart in his ears. That was it. There was nothing gay or wrong about it if he pretended it wasn't happening.

He heard fumbling with a zipper and assumed it was Arthur trying to get himself off, but from the exasperated grunt that followed a few moments later, Alfred figured whatever Arthur had taken was preventing him from getting hard. It served him right, he thought, and chewed on his lip to avoid making any noise once both of Arthur's hands were back on him. Somehow Arthur knew exactly what best to do, twisting hand over hand, but without a set rhythm so that each stroke came as a surprise, welcome or not.

"If you tell me to stop, I'll stop."

That was true enough. Alfred had told him to stop a few times before and Arthur always had, rolling off of him without complaint and not trying anything for the rest of the night. Alfred wasn't sure if that made him feel any better, knowing that he could end this if he wanted, but was choosing to remain silent.

There was pause, and then a wet noise as Arthur spat into one of his palms. Alfred shivered when the saliva was spread up his cock, but kept his eyes and his mouth shut. He was fighting to keep his hips against the mattress, toes curling and stomach muscles clenched. Breath was coming hard and fast now, huffing through his nose so that he sounded like a wounded animal more than a man about to tip over the edge of bliss. Climaxing like this almost hurt, not because the feeling itself was painful, but because any pleasure was truncated by the reality of its origin.

Arthur was half grinding against him now, too, and that was the final straw. Alfred's breathing stopped and his body went rigid for a few seconds as he came. He almost bit through his own lip, knuckles cracking as he fisted the sheets even harder and tried not to cry out. He didn't want to give Arthur the satisfaction of knowing it felt good, even though the sticky mess on his hand was proof enough. Alfred didn't see what Arthur did with the handful of cum, but by the time he came around to himself enough to pull up his pants, Arthur was already lying next to him on the bed, back to the wall, with a cheery, vacant expression on his face.

Alfred didn't know what to say or do, so he just stared back, and kept on staring until his eyes felt gritty and feverish. He let out a little gasp and his chest felt tight and his lungs burned.

Arthur just blinked at him curiously. "Are you going to cry?"

"No," Alfred sobbed defiantly, but then he was crying.

His shoulders shook as ugly bleating noises left his mouth and snot poured out his nose and his eyes spilled over with searing tears, and he felt so ashamed that he didn't even fight it when Arthur pulled him close and shushed him.

He felt even worse when he buried his face in Arthur's shirt and clung onto him for dear life in return, oddly soothed as Arthur's cold fingers wove aimlessly through his hair, telling him it was going to be okay even though he couldn't possibly understood the magnitude of what had happened.


	7. Blackbird Fly

**Warnings: Suicide**

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><p>Alfred's mother had always warned him about being late. <em>Better late than never, but never late is better<em>, she would quote loftily and swat him on his rear as he ran out the back door and hopped over fences to make it to the bus stop on time. But then he'd grown up and moved out and learned how to program the alarm clock on his cell phone. There were no reminders other than a tinny siren sound and flashing and his hand reaching out to make it go away, if only for ten more minutes. Beds were warm and mornings were early, so more often than not, he still found himself running late.

That's how it was the first morning he saw _him_. Alfred would have never ducked into the alley behind his apartment building if he hadn't thought it would save some time, never would have passed by at just the right moment, and looked up at just the right time, and heard exactly what he'd needed to hear. And he never would have had his heart broken.

The first time Alfred saw him, he was sitting on the third floor fire escape platform, seated on his windowsill, soft blue curtains inhaling and exhaling around him as he played the last few chords of a song on his guitar. There was a small birdcage on a stand with a bright yellow canary inside, chirping raucously as if to accompany the dying music. Time had stopped; Alfred was certain of it. There was no other explanation for the slow, heavy quality in the air as the last note echoed in the alley, or the way everything but the stranger on the fire escape went out of focus, or the force that had compelled Alfred to stop and look up in the first place.

If he had been inclined to believe in such things, Alfred would have called it love at first sight. But love at first sight didn't work like this; it was supposed to be romantic and dramatic, he was supposed to climb up the fire escape and kiss this stranger and then introduce himself and live happily ever after. Instead, he waved and smiled hopefully as the stranger came to edge of the metal railing and looked over the edge. He looked tired, face pale and puffy and only made more so by his black t-shirt and jeans, blonde hair a mess of spikes and flat bits, but Alfred could hear his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears. The stranger appraised him wordlessly, then turned back and ducked inside, taking the birdcage with him, and slamming the window shut.

And maybe Alfred would have pursued him that first day if he hadn't been running so late already.

* * *

><p>He was up on time the next day, ready for work earlier than ever, and yet he still wandered into the alley. Sunlight was just barely beginning to flood the mouth of it, blocked by the two tall apartment buildings on either side, but there were several people leaning out of their windows, coffee cups or cigarettes in hand, all silent as if waiting for something important to happen. Alfred waved and whistled to get the attention of a woman on the second floor.<p>

"Hey, what's going-"

"Shhh!"

"What?"

"Be quiet!" The rollers in her hair jiggled violently as she scolded him, then gestured upward.

The stranger from the day before was crawling out of his window, setting his canary on the stand and reaching back inside to get his guitar. Alfred turned around in confusion as he heard the rustle and bang of more and more windows opening on each side of the alley.

And then the stranger started singing; quietly at first, but stronger and louder and sweeter as the minutes ticked by. His canary let out decorative trills every now and then, but he played on, eyes closed, fingers sure, and Alfred thought there couldn't possibly being anything or anyone more beautiful. The same heaviness and blurriness from the day before set itself like a comforting blanket around Alfred, but all too soon the music stopped and the stranger disappeared again. The echoes of a dozen windows shutting echoed in the alley.

Alfred wasn't forced out of his reverie until the door to the building opened and the woman with the curlers in her hair came out, waddling past in her slippers as she chucked a trash bag into the dumpsters.

"Who?" Alfred pointed vaguely upward and the woman laughed.

"Oh. That's Arthur. He just _does _that."

"Every morning?"

"Usually, unless it's raining. Such a nice voice." She smiled and nodded, walking back into the building, humming a bit of Arthur's song.

* * *

><p>Alfred was early for work for the next three months. He waited every morning in the alley while Arthur sang and played, waited with the other strangers who watched and listened. Alfred had gotten tired of being ignored by Arthur, wonderful, beautiful Arthur and counted the windows on his floor one morning, trying to figure out which apartment number was his. After work he'd sweet-talked his way into the building and run up the stairs to the third floor, counting his way down the hall until he was at the right door. He'd heard the chirping of a bird and smiled, knocking.<p>

Arthur had only opened the door as far as the chain would allow, peeking around the edge cautiously and hunching his shoulders up when he saw Alfred.

"Hi! I'm Alfred. They guy from the alley? I... I listen to you play sometimes, in the morning."

There was no response other than Arthur's curt nod.

"Anyway... you're really great! Like, the singing and stuff. Maybe would you want to, I don't know, get a cup of coffee sometime? I'd like to get to know you! I live in the building right across the way, so we're sort of neighbours and-"

The door was shut in his face.

* * *

><p>Alfred started leaving notes and gifts outside Arthur's door. It started with a little slip of paper, some simple office stationery with his name and phone number on it and "Lunch? Coffee? Anything? Call me!" written across it in large, sloping handwriting. Then it was another introduction, longer and on several pieces of stationery. Then it was a tin of cookies, a box of bird treats, a scarf at Christmas, some candy on Valentine's day and flowers whenever Alfred felt like the daily notes weren't enough. Each and every time, he would knock, wait until he heard the rattle of the doorknob, and then run down the hall, and each time he would watch from around the corner as pale, long-fingered hands reached down and took whatever he'd placed there. As much as Alfred wanted to use the opportunity to see Arthur face-to-face again, he knew he had to wait. Arthur would call him when he was ready. Until then, Alfred was content to lean against the wall in the alley every morning, and write love letters to a man he barely knew.<p>

Sometimes Alfred would be running late, and he's sprint into the alley, worried that he'd missed Arthur altogether. But Arthur would be sitting on his windowsill, waiting for him, never starting his morning concerts until Alfred was beaming up at him. Every now and then he'd wave or smile, and more than once he'd come out wearing the scarf Alfred had given him, touching it and nodding his head in thanks. He never said a word, but Alfred didn't think he had to, not when he sang the way he did.

Then Alfred started hearing another voice in Arthur's apartment on his afternoon deliveries. He could never make out what it was saying, but he could tell it was male. The voice was loud and sometimes angry, only pausing when a smaller voice began begging. Alfred listened with his ear to the door, the rumble of conversation punctuated by chirping until one day, the talking stopped and the crashing began. It sounded like glass shattering, and then there was more yelling, and more banging and breaking and the bird was silent and Alfred almost knocked on the door to stop it until it was swinging open and another man was pushing him out of the way and stomping down the hall.

Arthur was sitting on the middle of his floor, broken dishes all around and his face in his hands. Shards crunching beneath his shoes, Alfred walked toward him, putting a hand out in gentle reassurance when Arthur looked up with a flinch.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

Arthur shook his head and tried to stand up without cutting his bare feet, picking his way over the biggest pieces of glass and ceramic and pushing Alfred out.

"Who was that guy? Do you need help? I can-"

Wincing as his feet were cut, Arthur grabbed onto Alfred's tie and pulled him down for a kiss, then shoved him hard out of the apartment and slammed his door.

* * *

><p>Arthur didn't come out onto the fire escape for five weeks after that. No matter how early or late Alfred was, Arthur wasn't there. There was no music, no singing, no bright yellow bird, or bright, beautiful Arthur. The alley was just an alley, not a magical landscape for falling in love, not a place where time would stop.<p>

Alfred knocked and knocked on Arthur's door, calling out to him, convinced he heard rustling inside the apartment, but never receiving an answer. He left letters outside his door, but they were still there when he came back the next day.

He knocked louder and longer, telling Arthur he just wanted to know he was okay, he just wanted to see him, (he just wanted to kiss him and he loved him) and why wouldn't he open the door or sing anymore? A slip of paper fluttered under the door, and Alfred read it hopefully.

There were only two words written on it in shaky, uneven handwriting: "_GO AWAY_".

* * *

><p>The metal cage caught his eye, so bulky it was causing the dumpster to remain halfway open. He flipped the lid and pulled it out, shocked to see it dented and twisted. Alfred didn't understand. Then he looked down.<p>

A small halo of yellow feathers was stuck to the ground. Maybe the bird had gotten out of the cage and fallen, maybe a cat had gotten it somehow. Anything could have happened. Pets died, birds died, it happened all the time.

But Alfred remembered the fighting and the broken glass and the shattered Arthur and he couldn't help feeling like something terrible had happened, was about to happen. Arthur's bird was dead and Arthur wasn't singing anymore. That afternoon, Alfred slipped a note under Arthur's door that said, "_I'm so sorry for your loss. Please call me, Arthur. Please._"

His phone never rang.

* * *

><p>He was running later than usual. He'd overslept by half an hour and now he was doomed to be more than twice as late for work. Alfred knew he'd probably get fired over it, but he ran into the alley anyway.<p>

Rounding the corner, he heard a scream and sickening thunk. Time stopped again, but instead of seeing a beautiful stranger on a fire escape, Alfred saw an all too familiar body mangled on the cement.

Yellow hair spread out in bloody crown, limbs twisted at grotesque angles, Arthur lay on his back dying but not quite dead in the cold wash of morning light. Alfred fell to his knees and crawled over him, not caring as blood soaked into his pants and bathed the palms of his hands. He almost vomited, but inhaled sharply and fought to stay calm.

"Arthur?"

Arthur's eyes cracked open, unfocused and glassy. His breathing was slowing down to a syrupy rattle and he heaved, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Hot tears poured down Alfred's face as he watched Arthur smile the tiniest, saddest smile in the world.

" Arthur, why? I'm sorry, I was late, if I had been here earlier, I could have saved you, I could have stopped you please, Arthur, don't fucking do this. Don't die, please." Alfred could hardly speak coherently, fits and starts of sobbing punctuating his babbling. He could hear the tinny blast of sirens and see the approaching flash of lights. Whoever had screamed must have called the police.

"Please, Arthur, I love you, okay? You can't die, because I love you. I don't care that I don't know you. Just don't die so you can get better and we can try, okay?" Arthur's eyes were shutting again, and his breathing was so shallow and arrhythmic that Alfred knew he was already gone. "I should have been here! I could have stopped you! I'm sorry, I was too late."

He reached out and touched Arthur's clammy cheek, wiping away the blood from his mouth. Alfred leaned over and kissed him softly, tasting the metallic warmth of his lips and almost retching again. Arthur's eyes slid open and he gurgled weakly.

"Better late than never."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I don't even know. **


	8. Lovebug

**A/N: Warnings: Profanity_  
><em>****Blurry19 on tumblr requested non-canonverse USUK with the theme of the moment one of them realized they were in love. **

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><p><em>10 min warning: I'm coming over- alfred<em>

Arthur jolted into complete consciousness, woken only moments before by the buzz and clack of his cellphone on the coffee table. Nearly falling off the sofa as a wave of nausea crept up on him, Arthur scrambled to pluck all the snot-filled tissues off of himself and from the floor and dispose of them in the kitchen, grabbing the two-day old dirty teacup from the table while he was at it.

Panic mode fully engaged, Arthur fought the soreness in his body as he located the air freshener and sprayed it in the living room, then sprayed it all over himself for good measure. Proper hygiene habits had gone out the window in the last 24 hours in favour of cementing himself to the sofa and waiting for death to take him. Going on three days of being plagued with fever, body aches, nausea and disturbing amounts of mucous had taught him that dying would be a slower process than he'd ever expected. Now he was wishing it would speed up so that he wouldn't have to face Alfred while looking so disgusting.

Arthur barely had enough time to swish some mouthwash, cringing at the foul taste of his own tongue against the mint, pull on a fresh t-shirt, vault over the back of the sofa and cover himself with the blanket, heart hammering wildly, before there were keys jangling outside his door and Alfred was peeking his head in with his usual grin.

He only had a key because of the time Arthur had asked Alfred to plant-sit while he went back to London and family for Christmas. It was completely innocent. Arthur supposed he could have just let the silly plants die, but that would have been wasteful, and what was one key among friends?

"Oh, good. You're awake." Alfred uncoiled his scarf and hung it on the coat rack, his easy familiarity a source of both discomfort and secret pleasure for Arthur, who snuggled further into his blanket.

"You shouldn't be here. You'll get sick!" Arthur half-feigned a sneeze to make his point, but Alfred just rolled his eyes and set two paper bags on the table, pushing at Arthur's legs so he could sit on the edge of the sofa. Arthur rubbed at his face while Alfred's back was turned, trying to make it feel less snotty and puffy.

"No way! I'm healthy as a horse. How are you feeling?"

Arthur didn't get a chance to respond before Alfred was placing the back of his hand gently to his forehead. A blush crept up to his ears, hot even through the remnants of his fever, and he tried to pull away, but Alfred pursued doggedly, brow furrowing in concern.

"You feel _way _too hot, dude. Maybe I oughta take you to the doctor." His hand slipped down to Arthur's cheek, thumb rubbing lightly and soothingly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Arthur's brain short-circuited for a moment and he let loose a tiny groan at the feeling of the rough, blissfully cool palm against his flushed skin.

"Whoa, you're not gonna hurl are you?"

Arthur batted the hand away, moment effectively ruined. Not that there had been a moment; that would require some sort of investment of romantic feelings, and there certainly was none of that going on; none that Arthur would admit, anyway.

"No, and I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much."

"When's the last time you ate?"

Arthur thought for a moment, but couldn't remember. Alfred was giving him a know-it-all look, so he crossed his arms and didn't respond.

"That's what I thought. I brought you lunch. Now sit up so you don't choke." Alfred busied himself with digging in one of the bags and Arthur's nose wrinkled in disgust when he saw the fast food logo on the grease-stained side.

"I don't think a hamburger is going to cure me, Alfred."

"Ha, no. This is mine. I got you that soup from that fruity cafe place you like." He handed Arthur a warm Styrofoam carton and a plastic spoon, then shook a bottle of greenish liquid. "And Gatorade. Drink up."

Arthur bit his lip, embarrassed when his stomach growled viciously as he opened his container of soup. "Thank you. You... you didn't have to do all this."

"Pssssh. It's no biggie. Besides, if you don't get better, I'm gonna have keep covering for you at the office and no me gusta."

"Ah, right, sorry about that. I'm not missing anything important am I?"

"_Fuck_ no." Alfred launched into frivolous gossip about their co-workers while Arthur ate his soup, forgoing the spoon all together to sip it straight out of the container, hiding his smile. He wasn't listening to what Alfred was saying so much as he was watching him talk, watching the stretch and pulse of his jaw and neck muscles, the rapidly changing and dynamic facial expressions, the way he gesticulated for emphasis even with food in his hands.

And then he wasn't watching Alfred talk; he was just watching Alfred. The way he leaned an elbow on a knee as he licked a finger clean of some ketchup, the way he flicked his hair to the side and out of his face every now and then, the way he pushed his glasses up his nose by the bridge and the way he turned over his shoulder and smiled right at Arthur with such openness and warmth and Arthur's mouth hung open in his own dopey grin for a beat before he heard Alfred's question.

"Isn't that hilarious? Arthur? Dude, you okay?"

"What? Oh, yes, haha, um." Arthur put the now empty soup container on the coffee table. "Er, how much do I owe you? For the food and all that?"

"Nada. It's on me." Alfred gathered up their trash and ignored Arthur's protests, going into the kitchen as if he lived in the apartment, too. If he was shocked by how untidy it was by Arthur's usual standards, he didn't say anything upon returning. "You need meds?"

"There's a bottle of ibuprofen on my bathroom counter, if you wouldn't mind bringing me a couple."

Alfred retrieved and handed off the pills, then went back to the door, wrapping his scarf around his neck and adjusting his jacket. "Okay, well, I gotta get back. Break's almost over." He shuffled his feet and patted his pockets, checking that he'd left nothing behind.

"I'll try to be in tomorrow. I'm feeling better, I promise."

"Nah, don't push it. Can I come hang out again, though? It's boring without you."

Arthur stammered, but covered it up with a cough and nodded his head, acting like he couldn't speak through his wheezing. Alfred smiled brilliantly again and opened the door.

"Cool. Get some rest, okay? See ya tomorrow."

Alfred was mostly through the door, inches away from shutting it as Arthur reclined and shut his eyes, thoughtlessly calling out, "All right, bye. I love you."

The door didn't click shut for several moments, and Arthur's eyes flew open as terror overtook him, froze him solid and trapped a mortified shriek in his throat. Then there was the sound of keys jangling again as Alfred locked his door, and Arthur pulled his blanket over his head and let out a whine of complete humiliation, feeling very sick indeed. He was in the middle of praying earnestly for a swift death to take him before tomorrow when his phone started dancing its way across the table for the second time that day. He reached blindly for it, pulling it into his blanket bubble, and flicked it open.

_ Ditto- alfred_

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: I may write an unrelated ficlet for the same prompt from Alfred's POV.**_


	9. At Second Sight

**A/N: Consider this a prequel to "Lovebug". What happens after the text message in that ficlet is up to your imaginations! **

**Warnings: Profanity**

* * *

><p>"This is the boring-est wedding ever." Alfred slumped in his chair and elbowed Arthur. "I mean, who picks a freakin' string quartet for their reception band?"<p>

Arthur stopped playing with the floating candle centrepiece to look over his shoulder at the dance floor. "Well, I suppose it is nice if you want things to be romantic and elegant and don't want people to dance or have any fun." He turned back around and winked at Alfred. "It is Roderich, after all. What were we expecting?"

"Free booze, at least. Who the hell makes people pay for bar service at a wedding?"

"Roderich, apparently." Arthur stood up and nodded his head towards the line at the bar. "I don't care though, I need some liquor in me if I'm going to survive the next three hours of this. Coming?"

"Nah, dude, it's gonna be expensive as shit."

Arthur scoffed. "Damn the price! I need something. Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks and considered it for a moment, looking around the ballroom at all the miserable people. One of the bridesmaids was sitting mopily at a table, eating her way through the party favour dish of candied almonds.

"How about we play a little game?" Alfred thrust his chin in the direction of the bridesmaid.

"Alfred, no, leave the poor thing alone."

"No, listen. There a lot of single, desperate people here right?"

"I'm single and I'm not desperate."

"No, not you." Alfred pulled Arthur back down into his chair and whispered dramatically. "I say we try to get as many phone numbers as we can, and the loser has to buy drinks."

Arthur snorted, a sly smile turning up the corner of his mouth as he surveyed the potential victims. "That's awful, Alfred."

"You're considering it, though."

Shrugging, Arthur turned back. "Free drinks are free drinks. Who am I to say no to that?"

"Who says you're gonna win?"

"Ha! Fine! How much time do we get?"

Alfred looked at his watch. "Let's say... an hour?" He prodded Arthur playfully in the shoulder. "Or is that not enough time for you?"

A more feral grin lit Arthur's face and he put his hand out. "No, that's plenty."

Shaking his hand, Alfred laughed throatily. "Good. Happy hunting."

Alfred struck out with the first two women he talked to. Well, perhaps he didn't strike out with the second so much as her brother happened to overhear their conversation and swoop in to cockblock him. He didn't even know who they were; some girl named Lilli who looked barely legal and her buzzkill of an older brother. Alfred figured they must have been from Roderich's new wife, Elizaveta's side of the guests.

Luck failed him again when he got stuck talking to the annoying mail room guy from the office for ten minutes. He was babbling on and on about the dinner service of the reception until Alfred finally had to fake getting a phone call to slip out to the hotel lobby and regroup.

Finally, seven women later, his hour was up and he hurried back to the table to face off against Arthur. There was no way he would lose; Arthur was cute and all, but he was awkward around strangers. He did have that whole British thing going for him, but Alfred didn't think Arthur could flirt his way out of a wet paper bag, let alone get more phone numbers. Excited at the prospect of free booze in his near future, Alfred slammed his handful of paper napkins down on the table with a flourish.

"Bam! Four numbers. Beat that."

Arthur looked up, poker face fully engaged. He slowly lifted his hands out of his lap and placed his trophies on the table one by one.

"Five." Giving Alfred a smug look, he pointed to two business cards and a napkin. "And these three are from men."

Alfred had to do a double take and then scrambled to snatch away Arthur's numbers, reading the cards and seeing that they did in fact have male names on them. "Holy shit! Holy shit, dude! How the fuck...?"

"Roderich married a fruit fly. The rest was easy."

"A what?"

"Oh, er, what's the term you use? Oh! A _fag hag_."

"What!" Alfred whipped his head around so fast his neck almost cracked trying to get a good look at every man in the room. "Holy shit, why didn't I notice that? Dude! You are a freakin' genius!"

"No, I just have better gaydar than you. Now hurry up, I need a drink!"

Alfred paid for two bourbon and Cokes, head still reeling from having lost and from Arthur's boldness. They sat at the table in silence for a while, drinking and people-watching until Alfred couldn't hold his question in any longer.

"So, uh, are you like gay... or whatever?"

Arthur spluttered into his drink and turned cherry red. "Oh, god, what? I-"

"I mean, it's okay! If you are, or whatever, I just figured since... you know what, never mind. We don't know each other that well, we're co-workers, this is just... unprofessional. Forget I asked."

Awkward silence ensued, but Alfred still couldn't keep his mouth shut. "No, okay I have to know. Are you gay?"

"Would it matter?"

"Kinda. Not in a bad way."

Arthur downed the rest of his drink and looked Alfred straight in the eye. "Then, yeah, I am. What about you? Are you gay... or whatever?"

"Me? Oh." Alfred swished his glass around, letting the ice tinkle and chip against the sides. He knew Arthur was probably just teasing, but he felt compelled to be honest. "I fall into the 'whatever' category."

Arthur got quiet and looked away. "Interesting."

This was bad. Alfred felt terrible and embarrassed and now he couldn't look at Arthur the same way any more. He'd always thought Arthur was kind of cute in that dorky passing acquaintance sort of way; they were friendly, but not really friends. This wedding was the longest they'd ever had any social contact outside of the office, and Alfred had screwed it up. And now that he knew Arthur was gay, it made everything ten times worse. Now he wasn't just cute, but flat out attractive. Maybe it was the accent or his endearing oddness or maybe it was just that he was tall and thin and blonde and Alfred was totally shallow enough to go for that. Whatever the reason, now Alfred was seeing Arthur in a completely new light, and he couldn't turn that light off. He snuck a peek across the table at him, but Arthur was still looking off to the side with a confused and nearly pained expression on his face. And even that was stupidly adorable and Alfred started eating his ice just to have something to do that wasn't thinking about Arthur; cute gay Arthur with his cute gay eyes and his cute gay mouth and his cute gay hair and his cute gay ass and his cute gay everything.

It didn't work. After a lengthy mental debate, Alfred decided to make an even bigger fool of himself and tore one of the paper napkins in half, taking a pen out of his jacket pocket. Writing on the clean side, he scribbled his name and number down and slid it across the table.

"Uh, here. Make that six."

Arthur jumped out of his contemplation and squinted supsiciously at the napkin. "What? Why?"

"Cuz I want us to be friends. It would feel weird now if we weren't, you know?"

"I-I suppose... but don't feel like you have to do this just because of what happened or anything. I understand if you don't-"

Alfred stood and held up a hand to cut Arthur off.

"Nah, dude, I just need an excuse to buy you another drink."


	10. 6RV

**A/N: Just something silly my sister asked me to write for a laugh, but I forgot to post it earlier. **

**Warnings: Sexual content and profanity. **

* * *

><p>"Oh, darlin', what did you <em>do<em>?"

"I know. I know. I _know." _Arthur turned back to the plate mirror in the bathroom and covered his mouth with his hand, stifling the nervous laughter that was threatening to turn into hysterical crying. He wasn't much of a crier in general, but Alfred knew from several years' worth of experience with teasing Arthur the wrong way, and mostly failing to navigate his idiosyncrasies, that once Arthur decided to get upset over something, he followed through spectacularly.

And hysteria was certainly justified now that Arthur was confronted with his own reflection, same as always save for the bright red shade of his hair.

In a way, Alfred was relieved that it was only a dye job gone wrong. When Arthur had called him and demanded he come over right away, Alfred had assumed he'd done something wrong and was going to get yelled at. Instead he'd been greeted with the odd sight of Arthur in his plaid pyjamas pants in the middle of the afternoon, the shoulders of his ratty black t-shirt still damp, and the top of his head looking like a furry stop sign. It was all Alfred could do to stay calm and not burst out laughing, but one look at Arthur's face told him that he was going to have to approach this delicately.

"What happened?"

"The box said 'strawberry blonde'. Strawberry! Not this! This is..."

"Red."

"_Fucking red_!" Arthur grabbed the package off the counter and scoured the back. "I must have done something wrong. Mixed it wrong. Left it on too long, something!" When the box offered no comfort, Arthur chucked it across the bathroom and put his face in his hands again.

"Hey, hey, c'mon. It's not that bad."

"It's awful! I thought maybe it looked so red because my hair was wet, but then I blow dried it and it didn't get any better and now I look like a bloody clown!" Arthur was laughing and yelling at the same time, his face contorting between toothy grins and tearful grimaces. He pulled at his hair in annoyance, then leaned forward on the counter on his elbows, hands cupping his chin as he glared at himself from only inches away.

"You don't look like a clown," Alfred chided and rolled his eyes, but pressed himself up against Arthur, hugging him from behind. He pressed a kiss to Arthur's temple, but wished he hadn't since Arthur's hair still smelled of chemicals and all the affection did was earn him a grunt and a swat. "So, why the change, anyway?"

Arthur sighed and scratched his head again, straightening up and letting Alfred hug him properly. He crossed his arms around his middle, over Alfred's, and let himself be supported while he slumped sheepishly. "I don't know. Mum was nagging about something a few days ago and she sent me on some errands and I saw the box in the store and I just... I wanted a change. That sounds so stupid now, but I wanted to do _something_. Exams, student leadership, applications for uni, everything here... it's all been so frustrating and _this_ seemed like a solution. I have no idea how, but there it is."

Alfred laughed, which brought on another swat and glare. "Oh, I get it! You were having a rebellious teen moment."

Arthur smiled self-deprecatingly and looked up at Alfred over his shoulder. "I suppose I was. If you're not careful I'll turn into a regular little hoodlum. You'll have to keep me straight."

Turning him around for a quick kiss, Alfred held Arthur close by his hips. "But what if I don't want to? You'd make a pretty hot punk. Eyeliner. Those skinny, torn up pants. Maybe some piercings... your tongue, maybe? I could dig it." Alfred waggled his eyebrows suggestively, tightening his hold when Arthur tried to push him away.

"You're disgusting! I would _not _get my tongue pierced, even for you!"

"But you'd wear the pants?"

Arthur shoved him again, playfully this time, but crossed his arms over his chest so he was leaning more against the counter than Alfred. "Stop trying to make me feel better about this. It's awful, isn't it? Tell me what you really think."

"What I _really _think?"

"Yes. Really."

Alfred saw as Arthur's face change to brace for the worst, so he lifted Arthur backwards onto the counter and kissed him before he could protest. Running his fingertips through the bright locks at Arthur's temples, Alfred smiled and shrugged. "Well, I'm used to seeing you blonde, of course. I don't think you _needed _to change anything. But..." he turned Arthur's face side to side and pretended to be considering his look critically, "... I think it's kind of nice. It's different, but it looks good on you. Brings out your eyes and stuff. Yep. I like it."

Arthur's cheeks flushed and he held Alfred's wrist fondly as Alfred stroked down his cheek and jaw. "Oh."

"Yeah. Plus redheads are really fucking hot. You should do a downstairs dye job. That whole firecrotch thing would totally work for you."

"You're the absolute worst!" Arthur smacked Alfred's chest, but let Alfred drag him to the edge counter so his legs were wrapped around his hips.

"I'm just teasing! But it does look nice, I promise. Really sexy." Alfred kissed Arthur neatly a few times, and was surprised, but not remotely unwilling, when Arthur threw his arms around his neck and demanded more passionate affection. There was something kind of seedy and gross about making out on a bathroom counter with the door open and the scent of chemicals clinging to his boyfriend, but Alfred also found it exciting. He mouthed his way down Arthur's neck and nipped at him just where he knew he liked it, shivering happily as Arthur's wandered under his shirt and to his back to stroke tauntingly in return.

"What time does your mom get home?"

"Not for a while. We have time," Arthur half-whispered, clearing his throat in his struggle to speak clearly while Alfred was busy tugging at his pyjama bottoms.

"Condoms and lube?"

"Not _that_ much time."

"Ugh. Fine. Lift up." Arthur obliged and Alfred yanked his pyjamas down just enough to have access to his cock.

"Ah! Cold!"

"Sorry." Alfred stroked him as Arthur fumbled with his belt and the fly of his jeans, smirking when Arthur was hard in no time at all. "Oh. So it is true. Redheads are the horniest."

"Sh-shut up!" Arthur squirmed and groped Alfred unkindly through his underwear, yanking and shoving until the jeans and boxers were on the floor.

"Play nice, now. No need to get feisty. Also, a redhead thing, I might add."

"Stop talking _now_ or you're going home hard."

Alfred warded off the temptation to talk again by assaulting Arthur's mouth with his tongue, though he wasn't sure if the following squeal was appreciative or mildly repulsed. He pulled Arthur forward again so they could grind together and have their hands free, fighting to urge to laugh when his ass squeaked against the counter-top. Arthur didn't seem to care, however, pulling Alfred's shirt up enough that he could scratch at his chest and stomach, and wiggling his pyjamas off until they dangled from one leg.

Slipping a hand between them to rub their cocks together more effectively, Alfred leaned his forehead heavily on Arthur's, other hand pressed up against the mirror for balance. The cold flat of Arthur's foot hit one of his butt-cheeks and he jumped, knocking noses together almost painfully, but saving it with another sloppy kiss.

"Y-you like the hair this much, huh?" Arthur teased and groaned, pulling Alfred's glasses off and letting them clatter into the sink.

"I like _you _this much. The hair's just a bonus."

"Git." Arthur kissed him a little too tenderly for the otherwise frenzied motion of their half-coordinated rutting, but then there was a crash and he pulled his knees in in fright, pinching Alfred's hips with bruising force.

"Mum, w-"

"Arthur!"

Alfred looked up and saw the reflection of Arthur's mother standing in the doorway of the bathroom, contents of her purse spilled across the tile since she had apparently dropped her bag in shock. His first instinct was to cover himself up, but Arthur's vice grip reminded him that if he bent over to pull up his pants, Arthur would be completely exposed. In the end, he settled for not moving at all and getting so red in the face that his ears and neck lit up as well.

Arthur's mother put her hand to her mouth, unintelligible squeaks slipping past her fingers.

"I can explain, mum, I-"

"Oh, _what _have you done to your _hair_!"


	11. Red Light, Green Light

"Gooood morning! Would you like to make a donation to the firehouse? Just a little change, anything? It makes a big difference!"

Arthur couldn't help hunching his shoulders up a little as the young fireman bent over and practically stuck his head inside the car. It was too early on a Monday to be dealing with chipper strangers. Handsome strangers. Fireman. Strange, chipper, handsome firemen.

_Oh, pull it together Kirkland_, he thought to himself and nodded as he fumbled for his wallet.

"Of course! Uh, here you are." He stuck five dollars into the boot the fireman was holding, surprised to see only a few dollar bills and some change at the bottom.

"Whoa! Big spender!" The fireman put his hand out, and Arthur shook it sheepishly. "Thank you! I- we really appreciate it." He gestured behind himself to his co-workers on the wide median strip of the intersection, some of them venturing out in between the cars to collect donations in their helmets and boots.

"It's no trouble, really." Arthur was willing himself not to get pink-cheeked. It was a terrible affliction, to never be able to manage his expression or act naturally around those he found attractive. _He's not even that good looking. Plain, even. Just be polite until the light changes. _"How long will you- all of you be out here?"

"'Til Friday. We need the money... budget cuts and all that." The fireman shrugged and smiled sadly, then looked up at the traffic lights. "Whoops! Looks like you're green!" He patted the roof of Arthur's car and waved. "Thanks again! I hope you have a nice day!"

_ Not likely to get much better than this. _

Arthur winced and laughed at himself.

* * *

><p>"Hey! Back again?" Arthur was shocked that the fireman remembered him and almost giggled nervously. Instead he cleared his throat and reached for his wallet.<p>

"Uh, well, on the the way to work and all that. Same thing every day." He reached to put money in the boot, but the fireman pulled away.

"No way, man! You already donated. I'm not gonna take more of your money, budget cuts or not."

"It's not an issue! I want to give you the money. I mean, donate the money. To the station." He folded up the bill and threw it at the fireman, then rolled up his window. Arthur pretended to stare straight ahead, but he watched out of the corner of his eye as the fireman fumbled with the money and nearly dropped the boot.

"At least let me say thank you!" the fireman shouted as he tapped on the glass.

"Not a chance! You'll just toss the money back."

The fireman's face lit up with a smile and he scratched his cheek. "You're too smart for me, mister. But I do appreciate it." He gestured for Arthur to roll down the window again. "I promise I won't give the money back!"

Arthur rolled down the window and found the fireman's hand in his face again. "My name's Alfred. I'm the new guy, so really if anyone's going to get fired, it's probably me. You're kind of saving my butt."

_Don't think about his butt. Do not think about his butt. Don't. _

"A worthy cause if ever there was one." He'd tried to say it jokingly, but it sounded sexual anyway. Arthur swallowed, horrified as he watched Alfred's expression change from confusion to understanding. Alfred grimaced and shook his head and was about to say something, but the light changed.

Arthur nodded curtly and muttered a mangled goodbye before speeding off. He could see Alfred looking down at his feet and rubbing the back of his head in his rear view mirror and Arthur started thinking up alternate routes to work.

* * *

><p>Arthur decided to brave his usual route on Wednesday. As much as he didn't want to see Alfred again he also wanted nothing more <em>than<em> to see him. _Make up your mind, you lovesick twit. _Luck was- or wasn't- on his side, though, and the light was green as he approached the intersection. He had no choice but go through, but he could have sworn he saw one of the firemen waving at him as he passed.

_It's entirely possible he fancies men. There are gay firemen. Aren't there? Yes, of course. There's gay everything. It's entirely probable that he... oh who am I kidding? _Arthur spent a few minutes banging his head on the steering wheel when he'd pulled into the parking lot of his office building.

The light was just turning from yellow as he came to where the firemen were standing on the median strip on Thursday. They had a boom box with them this time, and a few of them were dancing in between the cars as they collected money. Arthur kept his window rolled up until one of the fireman pointed his car out to his companion, and Alfred came rushing over with a smile.

"I missed you yesterday!"

_Oh, god. Maybe he does like men. _"The light was green," Arthur said densely, and Alfred smiled even bigger and leaned into the window on his elbows.

"Yeah. Too bad. So about the other day, when-"

"Here!" Arthur shoved another five dollar bill into Alfred's face, hoping to effectively derail his line of thought.

"You really have to stop giving me money, man. I mean, this is what? Fifteen bucks now?"

"It's just money."

"Depriving yourself of Starbucks or something?"

"I don't drink coffee."

Alfred laughed and put the bill in his collection boot. "Yeah, I figured. You don't seem like the coffee type. Tea, maybe? Fancy stuff. I mean, not because of just your accent or anything, just... you. You seem like tea. I mean you seem fancy. No, I mean-" Alfred smacked himself on the forehead. "What I'm trying to say is would you maybe want to go get coffee sometime? Or not coffee? Tap water, I don't care, just... whaddya say?"

_ Nononononononono._ This was not something Arthur had been prepared to handle and he sunk down in his seat, gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles went white.

"You don't even know my name." It was all he could think to say.

"You're right I don't. Tell me so I can ask you out properly?"

_ Ask me out? Oh, god, no please don't get red, please don't panic. No. I can't do this. _

_ "_Green."

"Green?"

"The light. It's green. I have to... I have to go, I- goodbye."

_Brilliant, Kirkland. Just brilliant. An attractive gay fireman asks you out and you drive away. Bravo, well done. _

* * *

><p>This was it. It was now or never. Arthur clenched the card in his hand tighter, then thought better of it as it wrinkled. This was his last chance to speak with Alfred.<p>

_ Well, hopefully it won't be. All I have to do is be charming and give him my card. That's it. It's not so hard. It'll be easy. Just smile and tell him your name and give him your card and go on a date and... no don't think about that. Card first. Card. _

But the lights weren't on his side. It was going to change just as he got there and then he'd have to drive past and that would be the end of it. Without even thinking, Arthur rolled down his window and laid on the horn. Everyone in the intersection was looking at him, but he didn't have time to care. He stuck his head out the window and yelled for Alfred.

The fireman looked puzzled for a moment, then realized what was happening and ran to stand on the edge of the median strip, a gigantic grin lighting up his face. Arthur timed it just right, and shoved his card into Alfred's boot as he drove past.

He watched in his rear-view mirror as Alfred dug the card out of the boot, read it, and then fist-pumped into the air. One of his co-workers clapped him on the back and they both laughed.

_ And now we wait. Oh god, I have to wait! What if he doesn't call? What if it's a joke? What if he's not actually-_

But Arthur didn't have to wait long. There was already a voice message on his cell phone by the time he'd pulled into his parking spot.


	12. The Morning After

**Warnings: Profanity and mentions of sex. **

* * *

><p>Arthur's mouth felt like it was full of couch stuffing. He lolled his tongue against his teeth and tried to keep his eyes open, but even the dim lighting of the bedroom felt like a hundred tiny daggers wiggling into his brain. He hadn't been this hungover in a while.<p>

After a few deep breaths and a slurred mental pep-talk, Arthur attempted to roll over and prop himself up. He didn't make it very far. Lack of coordination was certainly a factor, but the biggest hindrance was someone's arm clutching him around the middle and one of the same someone's legs hitched up over his backside. It took an embarrassingly long time for Arthur to register that he was being spooned by a stranger.

It was even worse once he realized they were both naked.

Panic overrode his hangover and Arthur scrambled out of bed. It wasn't even his bed. He wasn't in his apartment. He had no idea where he was. Looking around the room frantically, Arthur located his clothing and patted down the pockets of his trousers in the hope that he had not lost his cell phone. Mercifully it was there and still charged, but when he opened it, he swore. He had an hour and half until he had to be at work and he had no idea where he was. Struggling into his clothes, Arthur tried to recall what had happened the night before.

He had gone out. It was stupid to go out during the middle of the week, but Wednesday was half-price drink night and Arthur had decided he needed quite a few half-priced drinks. Arthur studied the face of the sleeping stranger as he buttoned his shirt up. He remembered talking to him. He remembered flirting with him. He remembered that the stranger had bought him more than one drink and they'd danced or at least drunkenly convulsed to a beat and he vaguely recalled making out in a bathroom... or was it a parking lot? Arthur couldn't remember how he'd gotten to what he was assuming was the stranger's apartment, but he had a fairly vivid memory of what had happened afterwards. The sex had been good or they'd been drunk enough that they'd thought it was good.

In either case, Arthur still couldn't remember the stranger's name.

Arthur slipped on his shoes and inspected himself in the long mirror mounted on the wall opposite the bed. He felt his face get warm as remembered that he'd been looking in that mirror for a very different reason the night before. Shaking his head, Arthur smoothed out as many of the wrinkles in his clothes as he could. He didn't look great, but his clothes were passable. Mostly it was his face that gave him away. He looked sickly and his eyes were a little bloodshot and... was that a hickey? Arthur winced and fixed his collar until the bruise was mostly hidden. His head was starting to pound and he needed water in the worst way, but he had to get going. He had to figure out where he was, find a bus or a taxi or anything to take him back to the building where he'd parked his car and then he'd have to rush to work and pretend none of this had ever happened. Giving the sleeping stranger one last glance, Arthur slowly opened the door and tiptoed out of the room, digging in his pocket to make sure he had his car keys and wallet.

The keys weren't there. .

"Shit!"

Arthur dropped to his knees and crawled all over the floor, praying his keys had only fallen out of his trousers. He pawed under the dresser and batted aside the stranger's clothes, but couldn't find them.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Desperately, he wiggled under the bed and flailed blindly, but all he hit were what felt like a pair of shoes and some magazines. He hit his head as he tried to back out from underneath the bed and his vision swam painfully.

"Fuck!"

The was some rustling and a groan, and then the stranger sat up and rubbed his eyes. Arthur froze in terror, hands still cradling his head when the stranger looked down at him with a concerned expression.

"Are you okay?"

"Me? What? Fine. I'm fine. I have to-"

"You don't look so good." The stranger squinted at Arthur, then squinted at the mirror on the wall and laughed. "I don't look so good."

"I have to go." Arthur tried to stand, but he'd gone calf-legged and only managed to scoot backwards.

"What's the rush?" The stranger swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood , stretching his arms over his head and yawning dramatically. Arthur was treated to a face full of crotch and he could have fainted.

"Work! I work, I- will you please put some clothes on!?" Arthur scrambled backwards until he hit the wall.

The stranger laughed at him. "What's the big deal? We already fu-"

"JUST PUT SOME PANTS ON!" Arthur's own voice hurt his head and he rubbed his temples. The stranger rolled his eyes, but pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around himself and sat down again. Arthur regained his composure and tried to explain himself rationally. "I have to go. I have work."

"You don't have your car."

"I need to go get it."

"I'll drive you."

"You have a car?"

"Yeah, how do you think we got out of the club last night?"

"YOU DROVE!?" Arthur couldn't remember being in the stranger's car, but he was mortified that they'd driven drunk.

"Stop yelling! And hey! I wasn't remotely as shit-faced as you!"

"That doesn't matter! And it's not my fault anyway! You were the one who kept buying me drinks!"

"Well it's not my fault you're cute!"

That caught Arthur off guard and he felt his face get hot once again. The stranger seemed to have surprised himself as well because he clapped a hand over his mouth.

"I have to go," Arthur said quietly and forced himself to stand.

"No! Don't! I mean-" The stranger rubbed his face sheepishly. "I mean, what time do you have to be at work?"

"Nine."

"I have class at ten! See, I'll just take you! Seriously. I mean, you can use the shower and I'll make breakfast and I'll take you to get your car and it will all work out. Whaddya say?"

Arthur didn't know what he wanted to say. This went against all logic. Men like the stranger- men who were tall and attractive and athletic- were supposed to kick their one-night-stands out or feign sleep until they gave up and showed themselves out. But the stranger was looking at him with such genuine interest that Arthur was flattered in spite of himself, and horrified that he couldn't remember his name. He grappled at the one detail he could wrap his sluggish brain around.

"Class? How old are you?"

The stranger's face fell and he held the blanket tighter against himself. "Legal, if that's what you're worried about."

"That's not very specific."

"Old enough to drink."

"You could fake that."

"Fine, then how old are _you_?"

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes in response.

"Uh huh. Look. I'm trying to be a good guy here. I'm not gonna kick you to the curb. Okay, Arthur?"

"Shit." Arthur's embarrassment inflated exponentially. The stranger gave him an odd look and then smirked.

"So, the bathroom is the door to the left, _Arthur_. Feel free to look for anything you need in the medicine cabinet, _Arthur_. I think there might even be an unopened toothbrush in there, _Arthur._ Go head. I'll make breakfast._ Arthur_."

"Yes. All right. You win," Arthur said in a small voice and made a hasty exit to the bathroom. He locked himself inside and took a deep breath. A shower and some food would be a wonderful right now, but he didn't know how much longer he could stand being humiliated.

The medicine cabinet was open, pill jars knocked over and a box of condoms spewing its contents out into the sink. At least this meant they had been careful, Arthur thought dryly as he straightened up the mess and rummaged for a bottle of aspirin. Hopefully his headache would be gone soon.

Arthur tried to hurry through his shower, awkwardly aware that this was where the stranger showered every day, that the soap on his body was the stranger's soap. The stranger stood here, naked and wet, every day. Arthur was distracted by that thought for a few minutes until his stomach clenched painfully. Aspirin without food had been a poor decision and he was beginning to feel nauseous. He might as well get the rest of this affair over with.

His stomach flipped again when he emerged from the bathroom. It smelled so good that Arthur couldn't stop himself from inhaling and sighing. The kitchen was small and open to the common area, so Arthur watched the stranger fiddling with the stove for a while. He really was quite attractive, even now that he was covered up in a sweatshirt and jeans. The stranger hummed tunelessly to himself, stopping when he turned and caught sight of Arthur. He motioned for Arthur to sit at a small square table pushed up against the wall and brought him a plate loaded with eggs and bacon. Arthur looked at the food, then looked up at the stranger and back down to the food again.

"Shit, you're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"What? No. No, I was just going to say that this looks great and you really didn't have to go to all this trouble." He took a conservative bite of his eggs and smiled.

"Oh, good. My ex was a vegetarian. Worst six months of my life. I mean, eat whatever you want to eat, but don't lecture me every time I get a craving for a Big Mac, y'know?" The stranger shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth and grinned while he noisily chewed. Arthur didn't know how he was supposed to react to hearing about the stranger's ex so he just nodded and kept eating.

There was a sharp whistling sound and the stranger jumped up to take a kettle off of the stove. "Hey, not to assume or anything, but I've got tea if you want it."

"That would be nice actually, thanks." Arthur couldn't believe how nice the stranger was being to him, especially since Arthur had been so adamant on leaving.

The stranger dumped some instant coffee in his own mug before bringing Arthur his tea and putting some sugar and milk on the table. "It's not really my tea. It's Matt's. But I figured, with the accent and all..." He shrugged and put three liberal spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee.

"Who is Matt?"

"Speak of the devil," the stranger said and used his fork to indicate behind Arthur. Arthur turned and saw a gangly, long-haired version of the stranger staring back at him from the doorway of the other room. "Ya hungry, dude?"

Matt looked like a frightened deer, eyes flitting from Arthur, to the leftover food on the counter and back again. Finally, he winced and scurried into the kitchen to grab a plate.

"I'll eat in my room," he said as he all but ran out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind him.

"That's Matt. My brother."

"You live with your brother? I- oh god!" Arthur put his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"Was he here last night? Did he, um, hear us? No wonder he couldn't even look at me!"

"Oh, yeah he was here." The stranger shot Arthur a self-satisfied smirk. "He definitely heard everything. Serves him right though. I walked in on him tit-fucking his girlfriend on the couch once. Swear to god I needed therapy. This is payback."

"Charming. Just charming."

"Hey, Arthur, relax, he'll get over it."

"And it wasn't even my fault! You were the one being loud, if I recall correctly!" Arthur pointed his fork at the stranger's face.

"My fault? Wow, yeah because I was totally the one trying to stick my hands down your pants and begging you to fuck me. Totally my fault."

"You did?"

"No, asshole, that was you! Glad it was a memorable experience though, thanks." The stranger shovelled some eggs into his mouth and chewed moodily.

"I'm sorry. I really am." Arthur put his fork down gently and started to get up. He should just leave now before he made things worse.

"Oh, sit the fuck down, it's fine. My name is Alfred, by the way, since I know you forgot that, too."

"Alfred! I do remember that! I mean, I didn't, but now that you mention it..."

"Uh huh."

"No, truly, I do." Arthur sat back down and played with his paper napkin. "And I do remember parts of last night. Not a lot of it, but some. When we were, um... that was certainly memorable."

"Oh, yeah?" Alfred licked a speck of egg of his bottom lip. Arthur knew he was teasing him again.

"Yes. Definitely. You're very good. It was very good."

Alfred laughed at him. "You are so cute. Calling it 'it'. We fucked, Arthur, it's fine."

"I know." Arthur folded and unfolded his napkin a few more times before he balled it up. "It's just that- you should know, I mean- I'm not _like_ that. I don't do that often. Getting drunk, letting strangers take me home. That's not me."

"Okay? So what? Even if that was you, I'd still like you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." Alfred shook his head and looked away. Arthur took a long sip of his tea. "Anyway, we should get going. Don't want you to be late."

"Right." Arthur smiled self-consciously as Alfred whisked away his plate. "Oh! My keys! I couldn't find them, I-"

"They're right here." Alfred grabbed them off of the counter and tossed them to Arthur. "You stuck these down my pants, too."

"It seems there's quite a bit I need to be filled in on."

"Nah, nothing exciting."

Arthur shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. "Well, thank you for everything. Breakfast, and all that."

"No problem. Thank you for not vomiting on me at any point."

They both laughed, but didn't move toward the door. Arthur cleared his throat and steeled his nerves. Before he could convince himself not to, he stepped forward and kissed Alfred neatly on the lips. He pulled away quickly, but Alfred followed, bumping their noses together.

"Ah. Sorry." Alfred straightened up and scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"No. Um. I just didn't want it to seem like I don't like you. I do. I really do, I'm just fuzzy on things and I feel so terrible about how things turned out. I'd like to not be fuzzy."

"Like, go out?"

"Preferably without alcohol being involved." Arthur crossed his arms over his middle and rocked back on his heels. "If you'd like to, anyway."

"Are you kidding me? I've been trying to figure out how to ask you out all morning, but then I figured that was out the window once I called you an asshole."

"I've been called worse."

Alfred beamed. "Well, you'd better write this shit down on a calendar or something."

"What? Why?"

"We can't have you forgetting, now can we?"


	13. Feeding Time

**A/N: Crisscrosscutout on tumblr requested something involving animals, so I went for the disappointingly obvious. **

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><p>Arthur didn't like to think of himself as a sentimental man, but there was no denying he had a soft spot for animals. It didn't go much beyond a yearly donation to the local animal shelter and buying gag Christmas presents for his friends' pets in addition to spoiling his own cat. Still, Francis would tease him that it was his "mothering instinct" being repressed and that he was bound to end up like one of those "crazy cat ladies", but Arthur thought that was rubbish. He had no interest in children and saw nothing wrong with the companionship his dear Ginger provided.<p>

Ginger was a handful, anyway. She demanded complete devotion and a rigid routine of feeding and snuggling or all Hell would break loose. Arthur knew better than to cross her after an incident involving new kibble that resulted in a destroyed sweater and a hairball filled shoe. So he was playing a very dangerous game by sneaking out to the alley next to his apartment building with a Tupperware container of Ginger's cat food and a little plastic bag of cat nip.

"Winston? I brought you dinner! Winston?" Arthur shook the container and made a couple of kissing noises until the grey and white stray slunk out from behind a dumpster. It broke Arthur's heart to see the poor thing hanging about a dirty alleyway but he couldn't take him in no matter how much he wanted to. Ginger would never allow it and he couldn't afford vet bills for another pet. It wasn't as if Winston looked _unhealthy_. He probably belonged to someone very nice, but they didn't allow him indoors. Arthur was just doing the cat a kindness by feeding him in the evenings. He didn't mean anything by it, nor by calling the stray Winston. It was simply easier to give the cat a name. He was being a good, charitable animal lover, that was all.

Winston meowed loudly and rubbed himself on Arthur's legs, bushy tail twitching in excitement. "Yes, yes, it's nice to see you, too." Arthur bent over to scratch behind the cat's ears. Winston stretched up into the pets, then flopped over dramatically, wriggling on his back as an invitation for Arthur to rub his belly. "You're not a dog, you silly thing," Arthur laughed as he stroked the soft tangle of fur. Winston was by no stretch of the imagination a small cat, and his long fur made him look something like an oddly coloured miniature lion. Perhaps Arthur would give him a proper brushing soon and see just how fluffy he could get.

Arthur watched with a smile as Winston devoured the cat food. The first few nights he had fed the cat, Arthur had thought he was starving and kept refilling the container only to have each serving disappear in minutes. It turned out Winston was a bottomless pit and kept eating as long as there was food in front of him. He seemed to be at a good weight, though, so Arthur figured his owners weren't leaving him completely to his own devices.

The container scraped across the pavement as Winston tried to lick every last bit of flavour from the corners. "I think you're quite done, sir. But, here. I've brought you a treat." Arthur fished the container away from the cat and sprinkled a few pinches of the catnip on the ground. Winston's reaction was instantaneous and he began rolling himself around until he was covered in leaves, purring and drooling like a fool. "You're lucky Ginger doesn't like this stuff. I tried to give it to her, but she looked at me as if I were a moron. She won't deign to touch the stuff. You, on the other hand, may be forming a dangerous habit, my friend." Winston was lost to the world and had taken to licking what remained of the catnip off the ground. Arthur laughed again and gave him a few more solid pats. "Don't have too much fun, now! I'll see you tomorrow."

He'd have to be sure to change his clothes as soon as he got into his apartment, or risk incurring the wrath of Ginger, but even if he was caught, it would be worth it. Arthur's soft spot wouldn't allow anything else.

* * *

><p>"Winston! I've brought your dinner early. I'm not going to be- oh! Hello." Arthur recognized the young man sitting against the alley wall. He lived in the building, and they'd passed each other going up and down the stairs a few times, but that didn't explain why he was holding Winston in his lap or why he had a can of wet cat food. "What are you doing with Winston?"<p>

"What? What do you mean? I'm just- oh shit, this isn't _your_ cat is it?"

"No… he's not yours?"

"Snowball? Nah. I thought she was a stray, so I've been feeding her in the afternoons."

That made something angry and possessive flare up in Arthur's chest and he crossed him arms. "Well, I've been feeding _him_ at night. You might as well stop. It's no wonder he's been getting fat lately."

"Hey! Snowball is not fat! She's just fluffy."

"Winston is getting fat because you're feeding him that canned garbage."

"How do you know she's not getting fat from your food, huh?" The man gently nudged Winston off his lap and stood, holding the can of cat food out to Arthur. "I bet this has less calories than your food."

"Not bloody likely! Besides, I'm already feeding him, so there's no need for you to do it, too."

The man scrunched his face up childishly and looked down at the cat, now sitting calmly between them and looking back and forth. "Well, I feed her earlier, so why don't you stop?"

"I was feeding him first!"

The man laughed. "What?! How could you possibly know that?"

Arthur couldn't come up with a good answer, so he rolled his eyes. "And anyway, you can't even tell that he's not a girl cat, so what do you know?"

"Snowball is not a boy!"

"Yes he is! He's got the, er, genitalia, or haven't you noticed?"

"Well, excuse me for not being an expert on cat crotches!"

They stared each other down for a few moments until they both burst into laughter.

"Are we really fighting over a cat?" The man took off his glasses and wiped his eyes, still giggling.

"I think we are." Arthur fanned his face, which he was sure was beet red from such a roller coaster of irritation and amusement. "I'm sorry, I'm just a bit of an animal lover and-"

"Oh yeah, me too, I totally get it. It's cool."

"I'm Arthur, by the way. You live in the building, yeah?"

"Yeah, I recognize you! I'm Alfred." He shook Arthur's hand cheerfully, then looked back down at the cat. "So what are we going to do about Winston Snowball, here?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe he had a family, but if you've been feeding him this whole time, then perhaps not. It seems silly to feed him twice, though."

"Yeah." Alfred scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "Let him decide, I guess?"

"What?"

"Like, see which food he goes for."

"I suppose that's only fair." Arthur waited for Alfred to open his can of cat food, and they walked a few paces away from the cat. They set their food down at the same time, and watched as the cat approached slowly, sniffing each offering in turn. After an intense moment of deliberation, he decided on the wet food, and began gobbling it down noisily.

"That settles that, then," Arthur said, a little disappointed. Alfred seemed like a nice enough person, but he'd miss his evenings with Winston.

"Sorry, man." Alfred clapped Arthur on the back sympathetically. Arthur flinched, surprised by the intimate gesture, but composed himself quickly. "Maybe if he doesn't belong to anyone, though, I should just take him in. Or you can, I mean. We can flip a coin or something."

"No, I already have a cat. She'd be livid if I tried to bring him in."

"You have a cat? What's her name?"

"Ginger. She's a Scottish Fold."

"The ones with they funny ears? That's cute! Hmmm. Maybe I should put up flyers or something. Just to be sure this isn't someone's cat."

"Yeah." Arthur retrieved his untouched container of cat food and snapped the lid back on. Winston didn't even look up at him, but Alfred was watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye.

"Do you… do you maybe want to help me? Put up flyers, I mean. And ask people and stuff? And in the mean time we can just trade off feeding him. Or like, feed him together, just split the difference." Alfred looked at Arthur hopefully, then down at his feet. "Or would that be weird?"

Arthur found Alfred's bashfulness endearing and softened in spite of himself. "No, that wouldn't be weird. I'd love to help. And visit Winston until we know for sure, of course."

"Great!" Alfred seemed genuinely excited about the arrangement, and Arthur returned his smile. "So, why Winston?"

"What do you mean?"

"The name."

"Oh. Oh, I don't know. It sounded dignified, is all. Churchill, England, all that." Alfred laughed, and Arthur realized how absurd giving such a distinguished name to stray cat was and laughed as well. "Why Snowball?"

"Snowball the Second, actually. I had a cat growing up, or my mom did. She was all white, so we called her Snowball. She got hit by a car when I was in the fourth grade. I so upset that I couldn't go to school for two days and I just stayed home and cried. I never wanted any pets after that until I met this little guy and-" Alfred shrugged and grinned down at the cat. "Sorry, you probably didn't want to know all that."

"No, it's fine. I'm sorry about the first Snowball."

"It happens."

They waited silently while the cat finished scarfing down his food. It wasn't uncomfortable, Arthur found, and he was becoming a bit grateful for Alfred's interest in Winston. Maybe he was just turning into a bleeding heart over the Snowball story, but it was touching that Alfred wanted to care for the stray in a more permanent fashion.

"So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Alfred picked up the empty food can and chucked it into the dumpster, while Arthur squatted to rub Winston's ears.

"Yes. I can make up some flyers or something and I…we can find some places to put them, if you'd like."

Alfred smiled brightly and bounced on the balls of his feet. "Yeah! And I'll find somewhere online to put a lost ad. And call some shelters, too, just in case anyone's reported him missing."

"Then, I suppose that's that."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Arthur stood up, but didn't make any motion to go back into the building. Neither did Alfred.

"Uh."

"Pardon?"

Alfred cleared his throat and shook his head, then bent over to pet Winston. "Nothin'. I mean, not nothin'. It's just…kind of premature. Never mind. It's stupid. Forget I said anything."

"What are you even talking about?"

"You're probably not even… aww, man. Okay. Well, if you aren't, like, busy or anything," Alfred straightened and gave Arthur a sheepish look, "I was kinda hoping I could feed you, too."

"_What_?"

"I- oh, shit!" Alfred pushed his glasses on top of his head and rubbed his face with both hands. "That sounded like a much better pick-up line in my head. I'm sorry, that was creepy, forget it."

"Pick-up… oh. _Oh._" Arthur was taken aback, but there was a flattered, giggly knot threatening to explode in his stomach. The rest of him was completely frantic to articulate an answer, but words seemed suddenly elusive, and he made a pained noise. "No. I mean, not _no_, but no, I can't. I have an engagement this evening." Arthur watched as Alfred's cherry red face fell, and he nodded as if resigned to rejection. "But, er, tomorrow. If you wanted to, I mean, you could feed me tomorrow." Arthur winced at how stupid it sounded, and so did Alfred, obviously still embarrassed.

But then he smiled, scratching the side of his neck shyly. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Just none of that canned crap you're feeding Winston," Arthur teased.

Alfred laughed boisterously at that, seeming less nervous. "Of course not! Well, I should go. Um. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." Alfred bent down to pet the cat on final time, then went to the door, looking over his shoulder at Arthur the whole time. "Bye."

"Goodbye." Arthur waved, and instantly felt like an idiot for doing so. Alfred just smiled and waved back.

As soon as he was gone, Arthur picked Winston up and gave him a kiss on his whiskered cheek. "You're going to get a lifetime supply of catnip for this, Winston." Winston just purred and bumped his head affectionately beneath Arthur's chin. Maybe Arthur was going to have to admit he was a sentimental man after all. His soft spot seemed to be growing.


	14. 2Spooky

**A/N: Silly rom-com-esque, vaguely Halloween related shenanigans with a slightly derisive tumblr inspired title. Happy Halloween!**

* * *

><p>"Boo!"<p>

"Ah!" Arthur jumped and whirled around, disoriented as the eye-holes in the sheet over his body shifted. Tugging them back into place, he opened his mouth to scold whoever had snuck up on him. Indignation quickly turned into amusement, however, when he saw who was behind him. "Oh, wonderful. And here I thought I'd be wearing an original."

"Now one of us is going to have to change", the stranger said solemnly before laughing. "Sorry, I just thought I'd be the only one phoning it in so bad." He flapped his arms a little so that the body of his make-shift ghost costume fluttered.

"I wasn't going to come."

"Yeah, me neither, but I kinda got dragged along. Otherwise I woulda dressed up as something way cooler."

"I'm Arthur, by the way." He almost held out his hand for a handshake, but realized there wouldn't be any point when both of their arms were under their sheets. "How do you know the charming host?" Gilbert had been running around the house dressed up as an Angry Bird and using it as an excuse to affectionately tackle people periodically. He knew how to throw a good party, but Arthur had grown sick of socializing and loud music and he'd retreated to the garage for a breather.

"Yeah, Beilschmidt's a riot, ain't he? I'm the brother of the on and off again boyfriend." The stranger rolled his eyes.

"Ah. That makes you Alfred." Arthur smiled to himself, glad the sheet was covering his face.

"Whoa, hey, what!? How do you know who I am?"

"I know Matthew. He talks about you sometimes. So does Gil. With fewer expletives involved, interestingly enough."

Alfred chuckled and swished his sheet around again. "Guess I have a reputation, then?"

"A bit." Arthur didn't know what else to say. He had never enjoyed small talk, and had certainly never been good at it, but talking with Alfred seemed better than rejoining the party crowd. He was vastly more enjoyable to talk to than half the people at the party anyway. Arthur pointed to a large, pinkish splotch on Alfred's sheet. "The faded blood is a nice touch."

"What? Oh, yeah that's not... okay, so I kinda forgot I don't have arms in this thing and I tried to get some punch and ended up spilling it all over myself." Arthur couldn't help laughing a little, then made a sympathetic noise. "Lame, I know."

"No, it's..." Arthur shrugged to stop himself from saying "cute".

It frustrating to be talking to someone hidden beneath a sheet, especially now that Arthur had a feeling that Alfred was looking at him funny. Alfred eyes narrowed, then seemed to light up with a smile, but there was no way Arthur could know for sure.

"Anyway... you never said how you knew Gilbert."

"Oh. I just know him. One of those people that I can't remember meeting or actively deciding to befriend, you know?"

"God, yeah. Like, you don't remember why you like him, and you kind of don't? But you still end up at all his shitty parties."

"Exactly."

They both laughed, and Alfred started swinging his arms again. "So, what exactly has Matt been saying about me?"

Arthur shrugged. "This and that. Nothing terrible."

"C'mon dude, I need more details than that."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"Just that you're studying engineering, you play basketball, you're incredibly charming and handsome. Annoying, I think, was another word he used." Arthur crossed his arms beneath his sheet and rocked back and forth onto his heels, smiling as he heard Alfred splutter.

"He called me annoying? Wait. He said I was charming and handsome?"

"Yes and yes. It was a rather contradictory sales pitch."

"Sales pitch?"

"He was considering setting us up." Arthur tried to sound nonchalant about it, and shrugged again for good measure.

"What!? He never told me that! He's never even mentioned you!"

Arthur winced. "How flattering."

Alfred didn't seem to know how to respond. Arthur could see the outline of him scratching his head beneath his sheet.

"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have told you that."

"No, it's cool, just... did you say no?" Alfred tone was bordering on hurt, and Arthur winced again.

"No, actually, I didn't. But he didn't think you'd go for it."

Alfred sighed in obvious relief, the sheet puffing out over his face for a moment. "Okay. Yeah. I can see that. I wasn't really... I was kind of all over the place a few months ago. I mean, I probably would have said yes, but he never said anything, like I said, so... yeah."

"Right."

They were silent for a an uncomfortable few moments, Alfred swinging his arms again nervously, and Arthur rocking back and forth. Arthur felt silly for saying anything about the situation, but he actually had been looking forward to meeting Alfred eventually. Now he'd gone and cocked it up trying to be amusing. Maybe in any other situation Alfred might have been interested in him, but Arthur had ruined everything with his big mouth. He finally worked up the nerve to speak again.

"I've made things awkward, I'm afraid. Forget I said anything. Happy Halloween." Arthur ducked his head down and made to go around Alfred and back into the house, but he felt a hand grab for his shoulder.

"Hey, no, wait!" Alfred missed, and grabbed a handful of Arthur's sheet, pulling it off of him. Arthur whirled around to catch it and tried to pull it away from Alfred, but couldn't. They stared at each other for an endless moment, Arthur knowing his face was stuck in a stricken expression, but unable to change it. Alfred stepped closer, pulling Arthur's sheet. "Wow, I'm going to kill Matt for holding out on me."

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur felt his face get red, and his voice cracked.

"You're really cute. I mean, I'm not wearing my glasses, so I could be totally wrong and maybe you're fuggers or something, but for a dead British guy, you're pretty hot." He laughed at his own joke, then pulled on Arthur's sheet again, forcing Arthur to take a step closer. Arthur let himself be pulled in until they were barely two feet apart, then regained a hold of his senses and pulled back.

"Are you seriously trying to _flirt_ with me right now?"

"Trick or treat?"

"That's not an answer."

"Yeah, okay, I'm trying to flirt with you."

"Because you think I'm cute." Arthur wasn't stating that as a fact so much as trying to piece together what was going on.

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

Arthur was too flustered to say yes, and he definitely didn't want to say no. Instead he opened his mouth and let out a stunted, confused noise. Alfred tugged him closer by the sheet again, and this time Arthur didn't fight back. He did, however, raise one of his hands and reach for Alfred's sheet, intent on pulling it off of his face.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm not wearing anything underneath this."

It took Arthur a moment to register what he'd said, and then he choked on his own spit and gawked down at Alfred's legs, which were in fact bare. "You're not... you have to be joking."

Alfred chuckled. "You're kind of hoping I'm not though, right?"

Arthur flushed again, and didn't know how to respond other than to frown and yank the sheet off Alfred's head. It fell across his face and down to his chest, which was covered by a t-shirt, thankfully. Arthur studied his face, horrified when his heart fluttered the tiniest bit. Alfred was handsome, especially since he was grinning and his hair was messy from the sheet. He wasn't sure what to do, wanting to get out of the room and stay, push Alfred away and kiss him all at once. And that was absurd. He shouldn't be thinking about kissing people he had hardly met, no matter how handsome they were or how long he'd waited to meet them. Arthur was spared having to respond again, though, as Alfred's grin widened and he leaned forward. For a brief moment, Arthur thought he _was_ going to end up kissing someone he'd just met, but Alfred stopped short.

"Boo."

And Arthur jumped again, but this time his smile was instant.


	15. A Christmas Companion

**A/N: Late Christmas things. **

* * *

><p>"Do you ever miss having one?" America nudged England as they walked along the park path.<p>

"Huh? One of what?"

Gesturing to the fenced in dog park they were approaching, America smiled. "Dogs. It's been a long time since you've had one."

England slowed his pace a little as they walked by the fence, head turning to watch the few pets and owners that had decided to brave the cold for a play-date. "You haven't had one for awhile, either."

"Not since, what? '90, '91? Man, Buddy was a good dog.

"Big dog."

"Big ass dog. And you! You had that yappy little rat back in the 70s. I fucking hated that dog. Tried to bite my hand off."

"Chester was a gentle and well-mannered dog and you never came around much anyway back then, so what's it to you?"

America laughed to himself as he thought of the angry little Scottish terrier, then shrugged. "But I don't think I'll ever want another one. It's too hard. We... well, y'know. They die, we don't. 15 years is kind of nothin', y'know?"

Turning to look at England, America was surprised at the fond look he was being given. "What?"

England shook his head and smiled at the ground before catching up to put his arm through America's. "It's sweet you're so tender-hearted. And I do miss it, yes. The companionship, anyway. But I wouldn't want to have another, either. It's too difficult to leave them every few months. They get so wounded over it."

"I get wounded every time you leave, but you don't seem to care about that!" America quipped with a fake pout, and England promptly shoved him. "I guess it's for the best, though. I mean, I still get to play with Bo, so it's not like I never have a dog around, but that's different. I don't know. Maybe I'll just get a goldfish."

"And cry when you have to flush the poor thing, I'm sure."

"Hey!"

"Hush, I'm only teasing. I'll admit it does get lonely, though. I wouldn't mind having a pet. I've considered getting a cat."

"Yeah?"

England cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets, bringing his shoulders up against the chill. "Well, cats don't mind being left to their own devices. They don't pine over their owners like dogs do. Not as high maintenance. They're likely to live longer, as well. It's only prolonging the heartache, I know, but still. It's company."

"You've been thinking about this for a while."

"Perhaps."

"So why not get a cat? Or a kitten?"

Sighing, England shrugged. "I could never pick one out. I'd want to take them all, honestly. Spoil them rotten."

America imagined England covered in kittens, knitting little sweaters and toys for them, growing catnip in his garden, and he laughed. "And you call me tender-hearted! That's adorable!"

"Don't laugh! I just feel bad for all the poor things in the shelters, that's all."

"Awww, my little cat lady in the making!" America wrapped his arm around England's waist and pressed a quick kiss to his temple before he could protest.

England scoffed and quickly changed the subject to the remaining preparations for Christmas, but America was only half-listening as he formulated his plan.

* * *

><p>The weeks passed, and all talk of pets was forgotten, which was exactly what America had hoped for. It had been a challenge to find an excuse to get out of England's house without him, but a few smooth lies about President this and embassy that had bought him a few hours. He could hardly wait for Christmas to come- more than usual, anyway.<p>

Christmas morning proceeded in normal fashion as they drank cocoa in front of England's Christmas tree and exchanged gifts- some video games and DVDs he had been excited for for America, along with a sweater England had knit him, and a pair of antique cuff links and a new fancy set of pyjamas with a bath robe for England. After the customary "thank you" kisses and the clearing of the wrapping paper, America had England sit back down on the sofa, and went to retrieve the rest of his gifts.

"What did you do? Honestly, this is too much," England said as he took the first box that was handed to him.

"Don't worry about it. Just open it up!"

America had to stop himself from bouncing up and down as England tore off the paper to reveal a box with a set of pet food bowls in it. He thought England would understand right away, but England only looked at him with a bewildered expression. "What's this?"

"Open this one and maybe it'll make sense." America handed him a bag with a mountain of tissue paper spilling out of it, feeling giddy as England plucked it all out and the pulled out a bag of kitten food.

"What? I don't... Oh, god, you didn't! Did you really?"

"I had to! Here." America gingerly handed him the last box, which he had dutifully poked holes in after picking up it's occupant early that morning.

England opened his mouth to say something else, but shook his head instead and took the box. He cautiously placed it on his lap and removed the lid. America didn't know what kind of reaction he'd been expecting, but it certainly had not been England's face crumpling into weird, tearful expression.

The kitten in the box, roused by the sudden increase in light, stood on his wobbly legs and mewed. His body was white, with grey points and a comical grey ruff that made him look like a mini bleached lion. America had even loosely tied a red bow around his little neck right before he'd brought the box out, and he was very pleased with the result.

"Do you like him?"

England's face was still contorting as he lifted the kitten out of the box and cradled it to his chest. "Oh my goodness, he's perfect! What a precious thing! I can't even... oh!" The kitten squeaked and squirmed happily as England stroked him and nuzzled him against his cheek. "He's absolutely darling."

"You're not going to cry, are you?"

"He's just so sweet!"

"Awwww, honey." America sat next to England on the sofa and put his arm around his shoulders. England nestled closer, but couldn't take his eyes off the kitten, who was nipping at his fingers and batting at them with his tiny paws. "I hoped you'd like him. I thought about getting you a grown-up cat, but then this little guy started meowing at me and he was so playful, I couldn't resist!"

"He's perfect," England cooed. "Let's get this silly bow off your neck, darling." He slipped the ribbon over the kitten's head, and the kitten took that as a cue to try to chew on it. England wiggled it for him a few times before tossing it aside and bringing the kitten up to eye level. "Such pretty colouring, too. He's a bit fat, dear thing." With a laugh, kissed the kitten's head and cuddled him against the crook of his neck.

"Hey! Where's my kiss?" America whined, as he tickled the kitten under his chin. "This little guy is stealing all my kisses!"

"Big baby," England chided, but turned to kiss America. It was slow and sweet, with just a tiny promise of escalation, and America smiled and silently thanked the ability of cute pets to get a guy laid. But England pulled away, and said in a mock sweet voice, "You're a bit fat, too."

"Jerk!" America laughed.

England went back to fussing over the kitten. "Thank you, he's just wonderful. I love him. I love you, too."

"Good. You can't replace me just because he's cuter."

"I'll try, but no promises. Now, come along, darling. You must be hungry." England stood up, still cradling the kitten.

"Yeah, I could eat!"

England gave America a withering look. "I was talking to the cat. You're capable of feeding yourself."

"I really didn't think this through."


	16. Candy Gram

**A/N: Some Fem!US and Fem!UK for February/Valentines Day! I'll be posting some nsfw lady stuff on my tumblr, LJ, and AO3, too. (that's where all the nsfw stuff has been moved to, btw)**

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><p>"So how much do these thingies cost?"<p>

Alice looked up from her biology textbook for the first time that entire lunch period. No one had come by the Candy Gram booth since she had started working her shift. It wasn't surprising, but it irritated her that Francis and Antonio had sold over 200 between them the day before. "You can't sell sweets while looking sour, chéri," Francis had cooed at her, and she'd promptly told him to walk into traffic, but it didn't change the fact that no one wanted to come near her, even if Valentine's Day was tomorrow.

What _was _surprising was that Emily Jones was standing over her, one hand shoved in the pocket of her low-rise, almost-too-tight jeans, and other hovering over the bundles of chocolate kisses wrapped in cellophane with wire stems made to look like roses. Alice gawked for a moment, then cleared her throat and pointed to the card-stock sign on the table.

"Can't you read?"

"Oh! Right!"

Emily seemed unfazed by Alice's less than friendly tone. Not that Alice wanted to sound unfriendly, she just didn't want to seem _too_ friendly. It was complicated. Emily made things complicated. Not by saying anything or doing anything, but just by existing. Stupid Emily and her pretty smile and pretty eyes and pretty hair and her t-shirts that were almost too low-cut and her perfume that was almost too sweet. Stupid Emily who was star of the women's basketball team even though she was only a sophomore, and was the pet student of literally every teacher in the science department. Alice would have hated her, except for the fact that she was in love with her.

"Are you going to buy some, or are you just window-shopping?" Alice pushed her glasses up her nose and crossed her legs, looking back down at her textbook and hoping she appeared casual and uncaring.

"Well, I want a dozen, but I don't know what colour to get." Emily stuck both of her hands in her pockets and leaned back to consider her options, the action causing the tiniest strip of slightly tanned skin to show beneath her belly button. Alice stared openly, imagining how soft and warm it would feel, then shook her head. She took off her glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief for an unnecessary amount of time, grateful that her blurry vision offered a reprieve.

"I suppose it depends on your intentions," Alice said delicately.

"Huh?" Emily cocked her head to the side. It made her look ridiculously puppy-like, and Alice had to go about rearranging the already neat samples to avoid smiling like a fool.

"Who you're giving them to and why. The colours can signify your, er, feelings. Yellow is for friendship and happiness, pink is for admiration, like when you fancy someone but you don't want to seem forward. I'm sure you can guess what red means."

"True love, be mine, all that jazz?"

"Essentially."

"Huh. Didn't know that. You're like a walkin' encyclopedia, aren't ya?"

Alice winced and hunched her shoulders. "Don't make fun of me."

"Oh, no! I'm not, I swear!" Emily scratched the back of her head and twisted her mouth into a lop-sided pout. "That's all cool stuff, but I still don't know what to do."

A twinge of jealousy shot through Alice, and she wished the encounter was over, hurriedly saying, "I'm sure any boy would appreciate getting candy from you, so it doesn't really matter what-"

"No, no, you don't understand. I want to send them to my baby brother!"

"What?"

"Mattie. He's not going to get any, I just know it, so I thought I'd send him some anonymously. But I don't want to get his hopes up thinking he has some secret admirer, so I don't know what to do. And it would be lame to get candy flowers from your big sister and I don't want to embarrass him."

"Oh. Oh! That is a different sort of thing, isn't it?" Alice half-giggled nervously. "I guess red is out, then?"

"Yeah, probably. That'd be weird."

"As long as your write something friendly on the card, I don't think he'll take it the wrong way."

"Yeah. Yeah! I just don't want him to get nothin', ya know?" Emily nodded to herself twice, then bent over the table to scrawl a message into one of the small white cards stacked next to the bouquets. Alice noticed that she mouthed the words as she wrote them, and thought that was oddly charming, smiling with her lips pressed together.

"I think it's sweet of you to think of this. My siblings would die before doing anything nice for me," Alice said self-consciously as she took the card from Emily and taped it to an order form.

Emily shrugged and laughed. "It's nothing."

"Just fill this out, please." Alice handed her the form and Emily knelt in front of the table this time, taking up the pen again.

"I think I'm going to do the pink ones."

"Lovely."

"Oh crap! I don't know his sixth period class!"

Alice sighed and reached under the table for the massive binder of student schedules and started turning the pages in as large of chunks as she could manage. "It's fine, I'll find it."

"Cool! Thanks. I didn't know something like that existed." Emily stood up and dusted off her knees, then pushed aside a few of the bouquets so she could sit on the table.

Alice stopped turning pages to stare for a moment. Emily was leaning forward just enough that her t-shirt was pulling up, making visible the subtle dimples of her lower back. The swell of her hip was just enough to sit over the waist band of her jeans, and as she leaned forward even farther, Alice became convinced that she wasn't wearing any underwear. Blushing ferociously, Alice flipped through the pages so quickly that she had to go back through the Js to be sure she hadn't missed Matthew's name.

"Hmmm. I'm not seeing him in here."

Emily leaned backwards and look down to the binder. "Oh, uh, he's not under Jones. It's Williams." Alice couldn't help shooting her a questioning look, and Emily shrugged with practised nonchalance. "It's a whole… thing. It's whatever."

"Ah." Alice ducked her head and went back to searching, finding his schedule and writing down the needed information in silence. "You're all set. That will be three dollars, please."

Emily hopped off the table and pulled out the money from her back pocket. "So you keep records of all the orders, right?"

"Yes."

"Did you peek to see if you were getting any?" Alice looked up at her and Emily wiggled her eyebrows.

"Of course not! I mean, yes, but of course I'm not getting any! I mean, I don't want… No." Alice shook her head and shoved the money into the cash box before filing Emily's order form.

"Hmmm. Well, what about me? Did you see if I'm getting any?"

Alice hadn't even thought to look, but now she knew what she would be doing the moment Emily left. "Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you. You'll have to find out tomorrow in Biology. Anyway, I'm sure you'll be getting dozens from all of your gentleman admirers." A hit of bitterness crept into Alice's voice in spite of herself.

"_Gentleman admirers._ Geez, you're funny." Emily snorted, then fished a stick of gum out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth.

"How so?"

Emily chewed pensively for a moment. "Let's just say they'd be barkin' up the wrong tree."

"Yeah?" Alice questioned quietly once her brain had started functioning again.

"Yeah." Emily put her hands on the table and leaned toward Alice. Out of instinct, Alice leaned back. She didn't know if Emily was just messing with her or actually attempting to flirt, and the latter option was so thrilling and terrifying that Alice grappled for something to shatter the moment.

"I ought to write you up for the chewing gum." Internally, Alice winced at how stupid she was for saying it, but outwardly met and held Emily's gaze.

Emily smirked and chewed a little slower before blowing a huge bubble, never breaking eye contact. The bubble deflated and Emily pulled it back into her mouth expertly, then straightened.

"Thanks for your help." She walked away before Alice could respond.

It took the rest of the lunch period, but Alice went through every single order form in the box and didn't find a single one sending chocolate flowers to Emily. Before her courage could desert her, she paid for and filled out a form ordering six dozen reds, leaving the sender line anonymous.

Emily sat on the other side of the lab from Alice during Biology, but Alice would still get a good view of her reaction when the flowers were delivered. She'd probably be thankful for the distance once Emily read the card, anyway.

_I hope __**I'm**__ not barking up the wrong tree. _


	17. When It Rains, It Pours

"Hey, sugar! Wanna ride?"

Arthur pulled the hood of his bulky jacket back from his eyes and peered out into the deluge of rain. The bus stop shelter did little to protect him from the wind slopping the rain haphazardly in every direction, and he wiped a hand over his wet face and squinted.

He blinked a few times just to be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. But no matter how hard he blinked, he still saw Emily Jones in her ugly red pick-up truck pulled up next to the curb. Emily had always been nice to him, even in high school when she had been infinitely more popular than Arthur's crowd. Emily was just a nice girl. A nice, smart, funny, very pretty girl.

"C'mon you're gonna drown!"

"It's no trouble. The bus will be along any minute. Really."

Emily gave him a withering look. "Arthur, we're going the same way. Get your buns in the car."

He couldn't say no to that, and fumbled with the door handle, slick and cold. Plopping with a loud squish into the seat, Arthur put his nearly soaked backpack on the floor and tried to get the lap seatbelt over the bulk of his coat.

"Thank you. I mean, this is really unnecessary. I could have managed, but-"

"You look like the Michelin Man in that thing." Emily was eyeing his coat with a smile.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I…. don't know."

Emily laughed, but it didn't seem cruel. "You're adorable."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that, so he turned toward the window and coughed.

Emily laughed again and her silver star earrings made a gentle tinkling noise as she shook her head and checked her mirrors before pulling back onto the road. Arthur stared at her openly for a few moments. She wasn't at all dressed for the weather, wearing a thin-looking sweatshirt, a pair of cut-off shorts, flip flops and her hair pulled back from her face by a pair of lime green sunglasses. He jolted and stared into his lap when she turned back abruptly, reaching for something he couldn't see on the seat between them.

"Hungry?"

"What?"

Emily thrust a large plastic bag filled with Lucky Charms at his face, then put it back on the seat, taking a handful and funneling it slowly into her mouth.

"Help yourself."

"Oh. Thank you." Arthur took a handful of cereal because he didn't know what else to do and spent a few moments sorting them by shape in the palm of his hand before eating them.

They remained quiet for the entire ride. If it made Emily uncomfortable, she didn't show it. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel at red lights, hummed to herself, adjusted the heat, and looked over at Arthur and smiled a few times. He smiled back, stupidly. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it in his fingertips, but it was probably just from being stuck in the puffy coat. He was overheating. That was all.

Emily pulled into one of the back parking lots of the college campus, growling when someone tried to cut her off. "Jesus fuck, why do people forget how to drive when it's raining?"

Arthur laughed sympathetically. "Thank you for the ride. I probably would have been late if you hadn't happened by."

"No problem." Emily smiled at him again, then went back to scanning the lot for a free spot. She drove down two rows in silence before casually saying, "You know, I had, like, _the _fattiest crush on you in high school."

Arthur choked on his own spit trying to respond, but managed to blurt out, "What?"

"Yeah. Like, senior year I was going to ask you to the Sadie Hawkins dance and everything, but I chickened out because I didn't think you liked me like that. But then you ended up coming here, too, and it's kind of nice to see you around and everything and yeah."

Arthur couldn't feel his fingertips anymore, but his stomach was twisted in a weird, happy-scared knot. He stared at Emily until she found a spot and started to pull in, but she was resolutely not looking back at him.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Emily shrugged and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, wiping away some invisible imperfection under her eye.

"And now?"

She turned to look at him, head cocked to the side. Then she pursed her lips in a strange, side-ways smile. "Ya got a pen?"

"What?"

"Pen. Do you have a pen?"

"Uh… yeah, just a second." Arthur fished a pen out of his backpack and handed it to her. She took it and grabbed a hold of his wrist before he could pull back, and shoved the sleeves of his coat and shirt up as far as they would go. Arthur watched with a kind of numb excitement as she wrote her phone number in huge, loopy writing up his forearm.

"If it's still raining tomorrow, call me. I'll give you a ride. Or just call me. In general. Or something. Yeah."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Emily chewed her lip, looking unsure for the first time since Arthur had gotten into the truck. "Okay, you'd better go before I feel like a dumbass."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Stop saying okay."

"Okay."

Emily snorted, and gave Arthur a long, calculating look. Arthur felt it was safer not to move, and was sure Emily was quickly deciding he was thick or defective or something. Then she pressed her lips together and a determined half-glare glinted briefly in her eyes.

"Aww, screw it."

Before Arthur could do anything, her hands were on either side of his hot, damp face, and her lips were on his. It only lasted a second, and it didn't feel all that great. Her mouth was kind of waxy feeling from what Arthur assumed was cheap lip balm and her hands were uncomfortably cold. Arthur still hadn't moved when she pulled away, her hands staying on his face, but her eyes flicking down to his mouth and then back up, as if she was gauging his reaction and considering kissing him again. Her face was red. Arthur's heart started beating loudly in his ears again.

Patting his cheeks awkwardly with both hands, Emily half winced, half smiled, then undid her seatbelt and opened her door.

"Uh. Yeah. Well, just make sure to lock the door before you leave." She pushed the pin down on her own door before slamming it and disappearing into the rain.

Arthur was twenty minutes late to his Philosophy class by the time he was able to pull himself together and get out of the truck, feeling hot, wet, and confused.


	18. Wasted

**A/N: So many fics have Arthur/England confessing because he's drunk... so, this happened. **

**Warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption**

* * *

><p>"Hello?" Fumbling to keep the phone to his ear, Arthur cleared his throat sleepily and rolled onto his back.<p>

"Hey, roomie!" Arthur could hear the drunken drawl and slur in Alfred's voice just from those two words and he sat up and tried to get his brain functioning in case he needed to go pick him up.

"Alfred, are you-"

"What ya doin'?"

"I was sleeping."

"Uh oh, did I wake you up?" Alfred affected a high, childish voice before snorting grossly and laughing.

"A little bit, yes." Arthur smiled and flopped back onto his pillows. He had only been around a drunk Alfred once since they had been living together and it was quite amusing. Drunk Alfred liked to hug everyone and attempted to re-enact awful 90s boy band music videos by himself. He was probably a big hit at the fraternity party. There was no doubt they would initiate him. "Where are you? Aren't you missing your party?"

"Naaahhhhhh. Nothin' to miss. 'S just a party. Had to take a piss 'n it's quiet in here 'n I wanna talk to you."

"About what?" Arthur rolled onto his side and cupped his hand under is cheek, prepared for a lengthy, booze-fueled and incoherent tale. It was a little pathetic, but Arthur was pleased that Alfred was forgoing the party just to talk to him. Things had seemed a little strange between them for a few weeks, almost as if Alfred was avoiding him. Arthur just chalked it up to stress and busy schedules. They'd only been room-mates for a few months, anyway.

"There're a lot of girls here, man. I mean like a lot a lot. _A lot_." Alfred's voice got louder as he repeated himself and Arthur could hear the echo in the bathroom.

"All right?" Frowning, Arthur pulled his blanket up over his shoulder and fidgeted. "Is that a problem?" He didn't want to talk to Alfred about girls. He didn't care what "bro code" bullshit it was that Alfred followed. It made him uncomfortable. It made him jealous. But not of Alfred.

"No, no. I mean I don't care about chicks or whatever, I'm just-" Alfred groaned and there were a few banging and scraping noises. "D'ya think they let you in if you like dudes?"

Arthur panicked, misunderstanding for a moment that Alfred was using "you" in the general sense. He hadn't discussed his own preferences with Alfred. He wasn't planning to, silly puppy crush or otherwise, but there was always the slippery gut feeling that somehow Alfred could tell. "What?"

"Like, do you think gay dudes join frats?"

"I don't know... why? Did somebody hit on you?" Arthur had heard stories about hazing that went far too sexual, but it didn't sound like Alfred was upset.

"No! No. But like, if like a guy wants to pledge but he likes other guys 'n it's secret do you think he can?

"I don't know. Why are you asking me this?"

Alfred groaned again and there was another thunk. "'S not even like I like a bunch o' dudes or anything, I jus' like _you_."

Arthur felt like he had been punched in the stomach, and his heart started pounding in the world's worst mix of excitement and fear. He had no idea what to do or say, so he froze, feeling hot and cold down to the tips of his toes.

Seemingly unconcerned by the lack of response, Alfred kept babbling. "This sucks. 'Cuz like, sometimes, 'm not even trying to think like that but I'll be like in class or something and then I think about it, you, and it's like 'whoa, gay brain, stop that. 's not cool', but then it's not a bad thing. Like I don' care about gay stuff. 'S fine with me, y'know? Be gay. Gay away, my brothers 'n sisters. But like, I'm not gay? But I am? Y'know?"

Alfred paused again and sighed heavily. His breathing slowed and became more regular than the stilted rhythm he'd had while speaking and Arthur thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. He felt like he should say something, but had no idea what. He would have kept opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish forever if Alfred hadn't suddenly coughed and started talking again.

"This bath mat thingy is really comfy. Anyway, I wanna kiss you and stuff. A lot. A lot. All the time. 'N other stuff." Alfred moaned, but Arthur wasn't sure if it was meant to be suggestive or if he was starting to feel sick. "Hey, you still there?"

"What other stuff?" That had not been what Arthur had meant to say, but now that it was out, he wanted to hear the answer.

Arthur heard another moan and some rustling before Alfred sighed again. "Ev'rythiiiiiiiiiiiing. I don' know. Wanna fuck you." Alfred was sounding less alert and more drunk than before and Arthur wondered guiltily if he should be prodding him along. Did any of this even count when it was coming out under the influence of alcohol?

But he couldn't stop himself. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Fuckin' hot. Wanna fuck... staring at your legs sometimes and your ass and... pretty eyes...wanna fuck me." Alfred sounded sick and sleepy, but Arthur let him keep slurring. "Want you to fuck me more."

"Oh my god." Arthur wiggled onto his stomach and ran a hand over his face and then back through his hair. He was a horrible mixture of embarrassed and turned on, so he forced himself to be reasonable. "We shouldn't, I mean, I shouldn't be talking to you right now. You're smashed. You don't know what you're saying."

"Sayin' I wanna... like, go down on you. Fuck. _Fuck_. I don' feel good."

"Alfred! Are you-?"

Alfred made a choking noise and then there was an echo-y bang before the sound of him retching blared in Arthur's ear. He moved the phone away from him until he heard the toilet flush. Alfred coughed and whined a few times, then fumbled with his phone.

"Are you all right?"

" 'm really drunk."

"I know, Al, I know." Guilt lanced right through Arthur's chest.

"Maybe... should lay down on the floor again."

"No, don't do that. Sit up." Arthur sat up on his knees. "Do you need me to come get you?"

"I don't... no. I'm not-"

Before Alfred could finish his half-thought or Arthur could argue with him, there was a pounding noise and some muffled shouting. Alfred must have dropped his phone on the mat because all Arthur could hear was a gentle thud and the sound of a door opening before more voices began to echo in the bathroom. The phone crackled, then went silent.

Arthur called back frantically, and when no one answered he sent several text messages. About thirty minutes later he got a response that Alfred was fine and someone sober was going to take him home. Panic punched Arthur's stomach again as he thought about facing Alfred, but he waited dutifully by the door anyway. There was every chance that Alfred wouldn't recall their conversation. Arthur couldn't help feeling disappointed at the idea, but it might be for the best.

Alfred was dropped off, less sick, but still uncoordinated. Arthur made him take off his shoes and glasses and go straight to bed, making sure he was propped up on his side with a trash bin within reach. Silent through the entire affair save for a few grunts and mumbles, Alfred suddenly grabbed at Arthur's pyjama pant leg as he turned to leave his room.

"Do you need something?" Arthur tried to subtly pull himself away, but Alfred was rubbing the fabric between his thumb and first two fingers like a child trying to soothe himself.

"Did I... did I say anything stupid?" Alfred looked up at Arthur. "When I called you, I mean."

The longer Arthur looked Alfred in the eye, the more he felt sick himself. It wasn't fair. He was finally getting what he wanted, and it felt horrible. Liquor was still swimming in Alfred's eyes, making him look lost and confused. He looked afraid. Arthur felt afraid. He felt angry. He felt guilty. He felt like he could lean down and kiss Alfred right on his vomit fouled mouth.

Instead, he pried Alfred off his pyjama pants, perhaps letting his fingers linger a little too long on the back of his hand.

"No. You didn't say anything."


	19. Size Matters

**A/N: I felt like writing something silly and this trash happened. Warnings: profanity and innuendo. **

* * *

><p>"We're going to be late," England called matter-of-factly up the stairs before returning to pacing in the foyer. Two loud thunks sounded from the bedroom roughly above his head, and England looked up, squinting as if his worry would penetrate through the ceiling and allow him to see whatever it was America was doing.<p>

"Are you all right?"

America's voice was significantly muffled, but England could still hear the slight panic. "Uh, yeah, fine! What time was that reservation for again?"

"Now, roughly." England flicked his wrist to check his watch, then spent longer than necessary fixing the cuffs of his suit jacket. Irritation and impatience were getting the better of him, so he inhaled as deeply as he could before exhaling slowly, cheeks puffed out. There was little use in getting upset at America. Habitual tardiness was just as much a part of America's personality as all of the things England admired and loved in him. Take the bad with the good, or whatever that silly saying was, he thought. But as another series of bangs and thuds danced above England's head, he thought that maybe he would be justified in skinning the man alive just for being so annoying.

Temper finally winning out, England stomped halfway up the staircase, then braced himself on the banister, knuckles going white as he tightened his grip. "What the devil is going on up there?"

America didn't answer for a moment, but then he swore loudly and came tearing out of the bedroom and down the hall. "I only have one shoe," he panted, holding up a black dress shoe in dire need of a better polish.

Making a cognizant effort not to focus on how handsome America looked when he was all dressed up in a suit and tie, England frowned. "What do you mean you only have one shoe?"

"I only have one shoe! One. Just the one shoe. That's what that means. I only have one fucking fancy ass shoe!" America's voice cracked in exasperation and he held the one shoe aloft, shaking it violently.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! How do you only have one shoe?"

"Fuck if I know! I must not have packed the other one!" America ran a hand through his hair, but stopped when he realised he was messing it up. "Okay. Okay! I guess I can wear my red Chucks and that won't look too weird, right?"

"You must be joking." England crossed his arms over his stomach, and shot America a hard look.

"What!?"

"I swear on everything that is holy that I will break up with you if you ever again so much as consider wearing trainers with a suit. I swear I will."

"But it's trendy!"

"I don't care! I'm not dating Jay-Z Timberlake!"

America burst into laughter, which only increased England's frustration. "Oh my god, nice try sweetheart, but it's Justin Timberlake. Jay-Z is a totally different person."

"Is now really the time!?" England was struggling to keep his voice just below a shriek.

"No, right, sorry."

"Go see if you can fit any of my shoes. Just to get through dinner. If we aren't already too late."

"Right. Okay. Yeah."

America bolted back up the stairs and England went back to waiting in front of the door. Less than two minutes passed, but to England it felt like hours. Disjointed pattering told him America was running down the stairs, and he turned to see what he had found.

"Oh god, why have you only got one shoe on?" England whined, and stamped his foot half-heartedly in defeat.

One of England's shoes was on America's left foot, and the other was in his hand, which he was holding up to his own mateless shoe. There was a look of complete befuddlement on America's face as he held the two shoes together, sole to sole. He held the display out to England, as if it was supposed to make sense to him.

"What's the matter?"

"It's bigger."

"What?"

"Your shoe."

England shook his head, not understanding what little game America was trying to play. "All right?"

"It's bigger. Your shoe is bigger. Your feet are bigger." America shook the shoes in England's face, his expression getting more desperate.

It took a moment for England to catch on, and when he did he had to fight back laughter at America's wounded male ego. It was such a ridiculous thing to worry about, considering all the sex they had had during the course of their relationships and not-relationships. There was hardly any reason to feel insecure now, especially not because of such an innocuous and inaccurate measuring stick as a shoe. But England wasn't going to comfort him now. It was too amusing.

"Well, my goodness. I suppose they are."

"How could I not notice this? How have I never noticed this? That can't be right, right? Like you're not... it's not..." America trailed off and scratched his head, which looked extra comical since he still had his hand inside the shoe.

"I wouldn't worry about it. There's not that much difference. Mine are just a bit longer." England couldn't help chuckling a little.

"That's not funny."

"It's not a big deal. So what if you have wee little feet? I think it's sweet."

"It's not funny!"

"That is, they aren't all that small. I just mean that they're... stumpy, compared to mine."

"Hey-"

"Yes! Stumpy little toes and all-"

"That's not-"

"-which just means that I have bigger-"

"Don't say it!"

"-socks!"

England allowed himself a smug smile while America's face got redder and he struggled for words. Finally he stamped his foot (the one wearing the shoe) and went to sit on the bottom stair to put on the other shoe.

"That's the oldest joke in the book."

"You set yourself up for it, dear."

America finished tying England's shoe unto his foot and stood, rocking back and forth and making a face as he felt all of the extra space at his toes. "I hate you so much."

Laughing, England grabbed his keys and patted his pockets for his wallet before opening the door and gesturing America through it. "Yes, well, hate me in the car, because I'm starving."


	20. Promises

**A/N: I was inspired by something I was researching to write something in a 50s AU. I know this doesn't necessarily read that way. But that's what I was thinking when I was writing it, at least.**

**Warnings: Fem!US, Fem!UK**

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><p>Annie is playing at the vanity, brushing her finger tips over the carefully maintained display and picking up a hair brush or ribbon every now and then to inspect it. Rose doesn't know why she does that when she comes over, other than to have something to do. Sometimes it feels like she doesn't want to talk and look at Rose at the same time, and Rose isn't sure if she should be angry at that or not. At least she talks.<p>

And it's better than when they go to Annie's house. Her mother doesn't let her lock the door, or even close it, and she doesn't like it when they play the radio. She thinks the music is "sinful". She thinks everything is sinful. She's probably right. Sometimes Rose thinks everything is sinful too, but it's a feeling inside, not an outward judgement.

Finally Annie has stalled enough and she spritzes two pumps of Rose's fancy perfume provocatively on her neck, tossing her wild, thick hair as she answers Rose's question.

"It don't mean nothin' when I kiss him, Rosie. It's just kissin'."

Rose smoothes down her skirt even though there's nothing wrong with it, then spreads out all the folds so that it fans open across her bed like wings. "If it don't mean noth- if it doesn't mean anything, I don't see why you have to do it so often."

"Awww, don't talk all prissy and grown-up, Rosie, I hate when you do that!"

"I don't think you should let him kiss you."

Annie rolls her eyes in the mirror and fidgets with her hair. "Francis is nice. He's handsome. And he's popular. You're supposed to go with popular boys so everyone will take you seriously."

"He's a _senior_."

"You're a junior." Annie meets Rose's gaze through the mirror and gives her a level look.

Rose can hear the unspoken other half of the sentence- _"...and I kiss you all the time."_ She doesn't have anything to say to that, so she goes back to fiddling with her skirt. It's too tight at her waist. Everything feels too tight when she has to wear the corselette her mother bought her for her last birthday. She doesn't understand why growing older means she has to be more uncomfortable. At first she thought going into the city to the big department stores would be exciting, that she would finally learn how to be a woman. All it really meant was painful brassieres and itchy nylons that sagged all the time and having to sleep with rollers in one's hair. And drawing on one's face with rouges and pencils and plucking one's eyebrows and always being worried that one was not fashionable enough, or shapely enough, or clever enough to attract men. It wasn't glamourous. Sometimes it made her sad.

Annie never worried about being glamourous, and she still got boys like Francis Bonnefoy to kiss her. It's not jealousy she feels, Rose decides, at least not the kind she should be feeling.

"I don't know how it can mean nothing."

If Annie registers the hurt in her voice, she doesn't show it. "Ain't ya never kissed a boy before?"

"You know I haven't."

"Your loss, sister. It's the living _end."_

"I don't see how kissing a boy can be any more fun than kissing y-." Rose presses her lips together and clenches her hands in her lap.

Annie doesn't say anything for a while, but Rose can still hear her moving things on the vanity. Finally she clears her throat and says quietly, "Well, it's not. I like you better. But-"

"I know."

"'S just fer practicin'."

"I know."

"You're a girl and—"

"I _know_."

Rose digs her thumb nails into the palms of her hands until white-hot half-moons start to appear on the flesh. Her nail polish is chipping. She'll have to fix it before her mother sees. Women are supposed to be tidy.

"Rosie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Look at me."

Rose looks up reluctantly, and even if she feels like crying she can't help but giggling when she sees Annie's face. She's put two bright circles of rouge on her cheeks and is puckering her lips, which are now covered in red lipstick.

"Think I'm pretty?"

"Gorgeous." She is, too. But there's something about the bright splotches of colour against her otherwise natural skin that makes Rose's stomach sink. Annie's only fourteen, she remembers. She isn't a woman. She isn't tidy. She's messy. She dresses like a boy sometimes, still, even though there's always the softest indication of the coming breasts and hips beneath her clothes. Rose doubts she's even started having her "monthly visitors" yet. She doesn't know why that matters, but it does.

"Do I look like Marilyn Monroe?" Annie throws one hip out and poses with a hand in her hair, lips pursed and eyes downcast and sultry.

"Better."

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

Rose waits for Annie to speak, but she's kissed instead. Annie always tries to kiss like they do in the movies, where the men grab at the women and dip them backwards and tilt their faces back and forth. It isn't bad. Rose feels the lipstick transfer to her face, and when she's forced take a breath in, she can taste it, waxy and sweet. When Annie's done kissing her, she grins and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, smearing all the colours, then plops down next to Rose on the bed.

"Tell you what."

"What?"

"I'll stop kissing ol' Francis if you really want."

"Will you?"

"Yup. I'll never kiss another man 'til the day I get married if you don't want me to. Cross my heart and hope to die. Not even if we're going steady. And you can have all my kisses 'til then."

Rose smiles at her weakly. She still feels like crying for some reason. She knows this can't go on forever. Everything will change eventually.

Annie takes one of her hands and rubs at it fondly. It feels nice, just to sit and be close, even if their faces are covered in lipstick and Rose's stomach is turning in knots.

"Did I really look better than Marilyn Monroe?"

No. She didn't. Sometimes Rose imagines what Annie will be like when she's grown up and she imagines her with red lipstick and her hair all curled up, wearing gowns and gloves and jewels like in the magazines. She imagines her fuller and softer, saying charming, beautiful things like a real actress, and sometimes it's so much that Rose finds herself lying awake at night with her fingers between her legs. Sometimes she does that even when she imagines Annie as she really is. Either way, it's all a lie.

"Yes. You did."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Annie smiles at her and it's the best smile Rose has ever seen and it's infectious. She lets the happiness pour into her, but contains it again and looks at Annie seriously.

"Are you really going to save all your kisses for me?"

"Yeah, really!"

"Promise?"

Her lips are against hers again, but it's sweeter this time. It's not like the movie stars do. It's gentle, and warm; a kiss for sweethearts, and Rose's heart feels like it's about to burst with the weight of it all.

"I promise."


	21. Ache

**A/N: An anon a while ago wanted something to do with Alfred feeling self conscious about braces and Arthur making him feel better, and I, of course, took it somewhere stupid.**

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><p>"Why me? What did I do to deserve this? It isn't fair!" Alfred was lying face down on Arthur's bed, wriggling around childishly. He rubbed his face back and forth on Arthur's pillow several times, and Arthur should have had the decency to be bothered by it. Instead he smiled at Alfred's pink cheeks and messy hair and the sour scowl on his face when he turned to Arthur.<p>

"It isn't so bad, is it?" Arthur sat on the floor in front of his bed so that he was level with Alfred's face and handed him the bag of frozen vegetables wrapped in a towel. Alfred promptly held it to his lower jaw and whimpered, making an even more dramatically pained face.

"It's the worst! I hate this! I don't want braces."

"You'll be glad for them in the end. And anyway, you'll get used to them. They don't hurt forever."

Alfred pouted and pushed the bag harder against his cheek. "Promise?"

Arthur fought the urge to make fun of his friend's predicament, and solemnly nodded his head. "Promise, promise. If I survived them, so can you. And you're far braver than I am."

"That's true. You're a wimp," Alfred mused with equal seriousness, then smiled widely for a brief moment. "Ugh. Even smiling hurts."

"Is that working or do you want me to get something else?" Arthur gestured to the the bag of vegetables, careful not to let too much concern seep into his voice. He hated seeing Alfred in even the tiniest bit of pain. It brought out a ridiculous instinct to coddle him that might not be appropriate between the two teenage boys, even if Arthur wanted so badly to act on it.

Alfred just shook his head and moved the bag so it was under his other cheek. He sighed heavily with a worried, distant expression.

"You're really bothered by this, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

"It's just braces. They're common. No one at school will care, if that's what you're worried about."

"I know, but..."

"But what?"

Alfred looked at Arthur for a long moment before he reached for his glasses on the nightstand and twirled them critically between his fingers. "Don't laugh, okay? It's just that I already have glasses, and those are stupid looking enough. And I'm taller than anyone in my grade and I break out all the time now and I stick out and now I have braces. I know it's dumb, but I don't want to look like some ugly dork, that's all."

Arthur was taken aback. Usually Alfred was rather confident about his appearance and didn't care what anyone else thought. For him to be so self-conscious was unusual and almost sad for Arthur to see.

He took the glasses from Alfred and folded them neatly on the nightstand. "You couldn't be ugly if you tried," Arthur said softly, and maybe a bit too sincerely, since Alfred gave him a funny look. "That is, those things don't make you ugly. Do you think people who have those things are ugly just for having them?"

"No, I guess not, but still. No one wants to kiss the guy with barbed wire in his mouth."

Arthur winced, not sure what to make of the shift in topic. Alfred had never shown any serious interest in dating or romance. He was still immature when it came to that, much to the frustration of many of their classmates."I don't know why you'd want to kiss a girl who was that superficial anyway."

Alfred blushed and switched the ice pack to his other cheek again to hide the pink skin. "I don't care about girls," he mumbled.

It took a few seconds for Arthur to register the comment, and when he did his mind began to race to find the meaning. Arthur had always had his little crushes on Alfred growing up. It was hard not to be drawn to the charismatic and friendly boy, and even harder not to fall for him when he could be so affectionate and sweet. Of course, he was also beyond irritating, but somehow that, too, was a part of his charm. Arthur handled his feelings with a graceful suppression, but if he had ever thought for one second that those feelings were reciprocated, he might have... it didn't matter. There was no way that Alfred meant what Arthur thought he meant. Arthur cleared his throat and shrugged.

"Then I don't know why you would want to kiss a boy that superficial."

"I don't care about _boys_ either, Arthur, I-"

"Then I don't understand what you mean."

Alfred looked like he might cry and he put the bag of vegetables directly in front of his face. "You're so stupid, you know that? I don't care what _people_ think, I just didn't want _you_ to think I looked bad, or something."

"Me? Why me?" Arthur still couldn't bear to get his hopes up, but his heart was beating faster and faster.

"Don't make me say it."

"I don't know what you're trying to say, Alfred! You don't look bad, I told you, and I-"

"Would you kiss me?" Alfred blurted out the question, the bag of vegetables still covering most of his face. Even so, Arthur could see him cringe the moment he'd gotten the question out. A burning satisfaction began to bubble in Arthur's chest, but he fought to keep collected.

"Literally or hypothetically?"

Alfred seemed to consider the question earnestly before whispering, "Both."

"Ah. Well." Arthur wondered if Alfred could hear the smile in his voice and in the next instant found he didn't care. "Hypothetically, I don't see a reason why I wouldn't. And literally..." Before he could think too hard about the consequences, Arthur took the bag of vegetables out of Alfred's grasp and away from his face. Alfred's eyes were screwed shut, which was probably just as well since Arthur thought he might have lost his nerve if those pretty blue eyes had been looking up at him. He leaned forward and placed a gentle, controlled kiss on Alfred's lips. It was a tad awkward since they were at different angles and Arthur was kneeling in front of the bed, but it was still enough for the feeling of satisfaction to spill over inside of him.

Arthur pulled away carefully and waited for Alfred to open his eyes. He seemed shocked, but not upset. Arthur searched for something sweet to say, but all he could think of was, "Your lips are cold."

Alfred made a funny, choked noise that might have been a half-formed laugh, and then his hand was on the back of Arthur's head and was pulling him in clumsily for another kiss. It was even more awkward than the first, but far more eager, and Arthur returned every bit of Alfred's energy. The kiss was just on the brink of going well, when Alfred jerked back with a grunt.

"Ow, that really hurts." Alfred touched his mouth tenderly and winced.

Arthur couldn't hold back his laughter this time, and put the bag of vegetables back against Alfred's face. "Well, I guess that's enough kissing for one day, then."

Making an embarrassed sound, Alfred pushed the bag away and buried his face in Arthur's pillow once again. "I hate this! Braces ruin everything!"

Patting Alfred on the back, Arthur thought that his braces had done the exact opposite. He hoped the pain would subside soon, and not just for Alfred's sake.


	22. Big

**A/N: Felt like writing nyo stuff and drew something random from semi-personal experience. I'm not condoning underage drinking in any way. Don't do that.**

* * *

><p>"Did you bring it?" Elizabeth reached out to take Emily's knapsack, smiling when she felt how heavy it was. The other girl scrabbled out of the window and pulled herself out onto the small bit of gently sloped rooftop. Emily flashed Elizabeth a devious grin and tucked her hair behind her ears.<p>

"Open it and see."

A surge of naughty excitement coursed through Elizabeth as she fumbled with the drawstring on the bag. She finally got the opening wide enough for her hand and reached in, digging past Emily's sweatshirt and jingling keys before her fingers slammed into smooth glass. Both girls giggled nervously as Elizabeth pulled out the bottle of alcohol and gingerly held it up to examine it in the moonlight.

"What it is it?"

Emily shrugged and grabbed the bottle, trying to get it open. "Label says Southern Comfort but I dunno what that is. Swiped it from the back of Daddy's booze cabinet. It was dusty, so I don't think he'll miss it for a while." With an exaggerated grunt, Emily finally got the bottle open. She held it up to her nose and took a cautious whiff. "Hoo boy, this smells like somethin' else. Here."

Elizabeth took the bottle and inhaled the odd scent of the alcohol. It smelled a little gross, but also sweet, like medicine. She licked her bottom lip and looked up excitedly at Emily.

"Well, happy birthday, Lizzie! Drink up!"

With a jittery laugh, Elizabeth put the opening of the bottle against her bottom lip, taking a deep breath through her nose before tipping some of the liquid into her mouth. She took too much and made the mistake of swishing the alcohol around her tongue and struggled to swallow, a sharp burning sensation following the trail of the drink. Passing the bottle clumsily to Emily, she coughed into her hand and pushed her glasses back up her nose.

"How do you feel?" Emily was smiling that silly smile where her dimples showed and her tongue peeked out in between her teeth. Elizabeth wanted to smile back, but she felt as if she couldn't move her face.

"Warm," she croaked, patting her cheeks, which were sure to be ruby red. "Take some."

Emily bravely slogged back her drink with less ceremony than Elizabeth had. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds after she swallowed, then drew the back of her hand sensually across her mouth. Elizabeth felt the warmth creep down her neck and onto her chest, but chose to blame the alcohol.

"So?"

"It's nasty," Emily said with a silly drawl. "But I like it." She stuck her tongue out suggestively, then laughed at herself and gave the bottle back to Elizabeth.

After gearing herself up with another breath, Elizabeth took another, more moderate, drink. "The second time is definitely better."

"That's what all the girls say."

Elizabeth snorted as she passed the bottle back to Emily. "What's gotten into you tonight?"

"Oh, you're asking _me_? What's gotten into _you_, Miss My Parents Are Gone So Let's Get Wasted?"

"Are you honestly going to complain that I'm finally acting like the rebellious teen you've always wanted me to be?"

"Hell naw." Emily winked and took a slightly longer pull of the alcohol. "That is better, shit."

They continued to chat and pass the bottle back and forth until Elizabeth got so hot she had to take off her sweater, leaving her in just a white tank top. She laid back on the roof and let Emily take over the bottle, enjoying the way the stars swam and undulated before her eyes. She didn't feel sick or dizzy, just pleasantly floaty and unbothered by anything happening. Maybe her mind was making more of being inebriated than was really happening, but everything felt wonderful against her skin. The cool air, the roof shingles against her bare shoulders, her own fingers as she stroked absentmindedly over her collar bone; it all left little ticklish trails of warm-cold behind.

Emily finally laid down, too, and swiveled her head messily to the side to smile at Elizabeth. Elizabeth just smiled back for a few moments, and would have continued to do so happily if there hadn't been a sudden crash on the sidewalk below them. Neither of them flinched and Emily started giggling.

"Uh oh. Dropped the bottle."

Elizabeth started giggling, too. "Whoops."

"Whoops."

"Whoops!"

"WHOOPS!"

They shouted at the sky one last time before a dog somewhere in the neighborhood started barking and Elizabeth shushed Emily through strangled laughter. It took a few minutes and many false starts before they both settled down. Elizabeth went back to staring at the stars, but was aware that Emily had gone back to staring at her. She let it happen. Emily stared sometimes. It probably didn't mean anything, and she probably didn't know she was doing it. Elizabeth even liked it a little. No one stared at her, at least not how Emily stared at her.

"What am I going to do without you?"

Elizabeth snorted. "When?"

"After next year."

"Don't worry about it."

"I have 're going to be in college and I'm going to be stuck here."

"Em, it's just one year. It'll be over before you know it. And we have all this year together."

Emily made a small confused sound and reached over to grab Elizabeth's wrist. "But you just said a year will go fast. So this year will go fast. Years are all the same amount of time. That's why they're years. I don't want this year to go fast."

Elizabeth looked over at her friend. Even in the harsh moonlight, she could see that her cheeks were blotchy and red. Her blue eyes looked wet and wide, and from the set of her trembling lips, she looked like she was on the verge of tears. A strange, scared feeling rooted itself in Elizabeth's stomach.

"Oh, don't be a sad drunk," she quipped, trying to tease Emily back to normal.

"No, you don't get it." Emily let go of her wrist and rolled over onto her back again. She breathed heavily, and Elizabeth couldn't stop her eyes from wandering down to watch her chest heaving. Elizabeth wondered how soft it would feel to fall asleep against that chest for a split second, then groggily shook her head and sat up. The drunk, happy feeling seemed to drain away, leaving her suddenly self-conscious and cold.

"You don't get it," Emily muttered again.

"Explain it, then.

Emily took a long time thinking before she answered. "Do you ever feel small? Or like everyone wants you to be small? Like you're being smushed down and in and you're collapsin' because you're supposed to."

"I don't know."

"Like, when your dad yells at you. Or when boys treat you bad. Or you read somethin' and it tells you that you have to be this or that and buy this or that. You start being... less. Little pieces of you shrink and fall off. And you wanna fight it, you want to stop shrinkin' and start takin' up space. You wanna be in the way. You wanna make people step over you. You wanna feel somethin' huge. Y'know?"

Elizabeth's throat was getting tight for some strange reason, and her response came out barely above a whisper. "Yes."

"I don't feel that with you. I feel big. I feel like I take up so much space that I'm gonna explode into a million pieces and those pieces are gonna be so big, don't expect me to be small. I feel so good and heavy and full and it's because you make me feel like that, you let me, and no one else does."

They sat in silence for a long time before Elizabeth sniffled and rubbed her cheek. "You're drunk, Em."

"Yeah."

"But I feel big with you, too."

Emily sat half way up. "Yeah?"

All Elizabeth could do was nod. Emily nodded back, and bit her lip. Elizabeth was so entranced by how it looked that she barely had time to brace herself when Emily flung her arms around her. The embrace was warmer and softer than she thought it could be. She'd hugged Emily before, but this was different, somehow. Emily whispered something unintelligible, and tried to move Elizabeth's face gently. She might have been trying to kiss her, but she seemed dizzy and sunk forward again. Elizabeth felt her wet lips on her cheek, then by her ear. The sensation sent an uncontrollable hot shiver down Elizabeth's spine and she clung tightly to Emily, who was still mumbling something. Suddenly, Emily went stiff in her arms and pushed her away. Elizabeth had barely disentangled herself when Emily leaned over the side of the roof and wretched.

After she had finished, they both slowly climbed back into the window. Elizabeth made Emily sit on the mat in the bathroom with a bottle of water while she went to hose the glass and vomit off the sidewalk.

Emily swore she no longer felt sick, just tired, and Elizabeth gave her some clothes to change into and ordered her into her bed. They'd shared a bed at sleepovers before, but now everything felt different, and Elizabeth found herself feeling shy next to her best friend. Emily noticed, but must have misinterpreted, since she looked distraught.

"Did I ruin your birthday?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lizzie. I didn't-"

"Shhh. Stop." Elizabeth gingerly reached out and brushed a strand of hair over Emily's ear. Before she could convince herself not to, she leaned forward and kissed Emily's forehead. "Come here."

It took Elizabeth a long time to fall asleep. Even though this was the most comfortable she had ever been, wrapped beneath warm blankets with an even warmer body pressed against her, she was wide awake. Looking down at Emily's face, she knew that the floaty, happy feeling of being drunk could never compare to the way she felt now.

She had never felt bigger in her life.


	23. Old Smoke

**A/N:** I had a craving for something somewhat domestic/fluffy and also cigarettes, and here we are. Just roll with it.

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><p>America was just about to doze off on the couch when he was startled by the slam of the front door. He sat up and wiped the drool off his face before grabbing the remote and flicking off the television. He'd just managed to take a casual pose before England walked in, looking grumpier than usual and twice as disheveled.<p>

England looked at him with a deadpan expression for a long moment before saying, "I know you have a stash of cigarettes and I very much need for you to get me one right now."

Not even bothering to deny his continued dirty habit, America stood and gestured for England to follow him into the small, cluttered room that served as his home office. "Everything okay at the embassy?"

England made a cynical snorting noise behind him. "No less than usual."

America knelt down and rummaged around in the back of the bottom drawer of his desk. He finally found the pack, lighter and ashtray, and handed them up to England. "They probably taste extra nasty. I've had these for a while."

"Thank you. I should be embarrassed to ask, but I'm not."

"I should be embarrassed to have them, but I'm not."

"Desperate times?"

"Usually."

England laughed at that, but it still sounded tired and hollow. "Sit in the garden with me?"

"Of course."

America took his hand and led him out into the backyard to sit on the beat up, but comfy cushioned wicker loveseat. It was still light out, the yard soaked in gentle summer warmth. England sat with a huff, and quickly opened the pack of cigarettes. He shot America a questioning look when he saw that about a half dozen cigarettes were missing.

"I only smoke 'em after we've had a big fight," he explained sheepishly. "Like I said, I've had that pack for a while, so..."

"I don't know if I should be offended at how many are gone, or impressed by how many aren't." England smiled kindly at him, and plucked a cigarette out, placing it between his lips. He flicked the lighter impatiently, but couldn't manage to get it going, becoming increasingly frustrated.

"Here, let me." America took the lighter from him and flicked it to life, the small bright flame dancing for just a moment against the tip of England's cigarette before he pulled it away.

England took a long, grateful drag, then tilted his head back to exhale a thin column of smoke. He coughed and winced, and shot America a wry look. "My god, those have gone stale."

"Told you. Old pack."

"Hmmm."

America let him enjoy the cigarette in silence for a few moments before putting an arm around his shoulders. "So, are you really okay?"

Sighing out his nose, England nodded and tapped away some ash. "It seems today was nothing more than a conspiracy to raise my blood pressure. I don't know why they called me in. It was a waste of time."

"I'm sorry, that sucks."

England laughed bitterly. "No, what "sucks" is that I had to give up a day of vacation with you to be blathered at by a bunch of fools who think I have the answer to everything when they are the ones who are supposed to be making decisions, not me. I'm not sure which I prefer: when they deign to yell at me, or when they ignore me all together. At least the latter would have let me stay in your bed this morning."

America leaned over and kissed his temple. "I missed you."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, you know." England leaned his head against America's shoulder, then took another pull on the cigarette.

"I know, but I want you to know it. I missed you. It was boring without you."

"Now there's something I thought I'd never hear you say. Usually I'm what _is_ boring."

"I love you anyway."

England looked up at him. "And if I didn't love you as much as I do, I'd take more offense to that "anyway" business."

America laughed and kissed him crookedly on the mouth. "Fuck, those did go stale. Put that shit out, I'll go buy you a new pack."

"I appreciate the enthusiasm for my impending relapse, but no, thank you. I feel better now." England took one final drag on the cigarette then put it out, placing the ashtray and pack on the ground. "Now, if you think you can stomach it, could I have a proper kiss?"

"You can have a helluva lot more than that, if you want."

America kissed England slowly, not minding the residual smoky smell and taste so much any more. He drew him in closer, wrapping the arm that had been resting over England's shoulders around him so he could press his hand between England's shoulder blades. England responded with a sigh and cupped America's cheek tenderly with his hand before combing his hair, skimming down his neck, and finally resting it against his chest. America hoped he could feel how hard his heart was beating, but pressed his own hand over England's just in case. He felt England clutch at his shirt as he tilted his head back to let America take even more control of their kissing.

Realizing he was still dressed up in his work clothes, America let go of England's hand and shoulders in favor of loosening his tie and fumbling with the top button of his collared shirt. England allowed it with a laugh, which quickly turned into a groan as America kissed beneath his jaw and along his throat. America would have continued if England hadn't gently pushed his face away.

"As much as I enjoy where this is headed, I don't think your hedges are quite that high, darling."

"Boooorrrrrriiiiiinnnnggggggg," America teased, but then kissed England's cheek playfully.

England played along with a grumble, then shrugged out of his suit jacket, folding it over the back of the loveseat before laying his head in America's lap, legs flipping awkwardly over the arm rest. He pulled America's arm over his middle, laying his own hand over America's and lacing their fingers together. America relished in the cuddling. It wasn't so often that England so outwardly demanded affection.

They relaxed in happy silence as the sun began to set, casting rich orange and purple beams of light through the trees and dappling their little loveseat. After a few minutes, England lifted America's hand and kissed the back of it.

"Thank you."

"For what? I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did."

"Besides enabling your delinquency, what did I do?"

"More than you think." England smiled up and him. "Just this is more than enough. And I'm very lucky to have it."

America's heart genuinely fluttered, but he couldn't help replying with a little more teasing. "Jesus, it's weird when you get all sappy. You better start yelling at me soon or I'll get used to this."

"I'll only be this kind until you buy more cigarettes. For your sake."

"Deal," America said with laugh, vowing to never purchase another pack for the rest of his life.


	24. Sticks & Stones

**A/N: Fem!US and Fem!UK. High school AU. **

**Warnings: profanity, mild mentions of blood and violence, use of homophobic slur **

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><p>"Ow, that hurts!"<p>

"Sit still or it will hurt worse!" Alice wrestled Emily back up onto the bathroom counter and went back to dabbing the shallow cut on her face gently.

The cold soapy water ran down Emily's cheek and along her jaw, and she pushed Alice away again to wipe it off. Sighing in frustration, Alice gave up on cleaning the long scratch and washed the towel out in the sink.

"I still don't understand what possessed you to get in a fight. That's not like you."

Emily shrugged and twisted around on the counter to prod at her bloody lip in the mirror. "I had to. On principle."

"Don't pick at that!" Once Emily was facing her again, Alice started cleaning the swollen lip, taking extra care to be gentle when Emily hissed and tried to jerk away. "What principle?"

"Ih duh-uhnt madduh."

"It does matter. And don't talk."

Emily pulled away with a laugh. "How am I supposed to not talk when you keep asking me questions?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I'm surprised you can move your mouth at all. That is going to be quite the fat lip in a few hours."

" 's not so bad."

Alice shot her a withering look and crouched to look in the cabinet under the sink for the first aid kit. "Does it hurt."

"Not the cut on my cheek, but my mouth is throbbing. And my head."

"What happened, Emily?" Alice asked, straightening to look her in the eye.

"I told you. It doesn't matter."

"You're sitting on my counter with cuts and bruises on your face and blood on your shirt and you're telling me it doesn't matter!? It matters to me!"

Emily hopped off the counter and tried to walk out of the bathroom, but Alice blocked her. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But I couldn't help it!"

"Why?"

"They were talking shit about you, okay?" Emily shouted, a wild, hurt expression flickering across her face before she sighed heavily and sat on the lid of the toilet seat.

"Who?" Alice asked quietly, taking some ointment and a packet of gauze from the first aid kit. She casually dabbed the anti-bacterial onto Emily's cheek and went to work covering it with the gauze.

"No, I'm not telling you who. You'll just write them up and-"

"Of course I will! That's my job-"

"I know, but-"

"-and they deserve it if this is what they did to you!"

"It's not about me! Okay, listen. It was during the assembly today, when you went up to give your president's speech or whatever. There were these girls sitting behind me and they just started saying all this..._stuff_ about you and it pissed me the fuck off and I told them to shut up. But they wouldn't, and it was this whole _thing_...anyway, they followed me after school let out and yeah."

Alice crossed her arms and was silent for a few moments. While it hurt to know that people were talking about her behind her back, it hurt even more that Emily had been hurt because of it. She knew she was lucky to have a friend who would stand up for her, someone who was loyal and loving and trustworthy. But she also couldn't help being angry at Emily for being so reckless.

"What did they say?"

"What?"

"What did these girls say about me?"

"No, I don't want to repeat it."

"No, you have to. I want to know if this was worth you getting beat up."

Emily sucked her teeth and shook her head. "This is nothing. I've had worse."

"Oh, no you have not. Don't act tough with me. Now tell me what they said or I'll email the principal tonight and you'll be in her office Monday morning and you can explain it all to her instead."

"You would not."

"Try me."

Emily stared up at her, but Alice didn't back down. Finally Emily groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

"They were making fun of how you were dressed and they...they called you ugly."

"Subjective."

"What?"

"That's subjective." Alice swallowed thickly, trying her best to sound unaffected. It stung, but she knew it was petty and meaningless. "Just because they think I'm ugly doesn't mean I am. Hardly anything you should pick a fight over."

"But-"

"No buts. What else?"

"Fine. They called you a know-it-all and a snob-"

"You call me those things regularly and you're my best friend."

"Right, but it's only okay when _I _do it, because I love you." Emily picked her head up to smile at Alice teasingly, and Alice barely suppressed the urge to smile back.

"What else?"

"Uh, nothing really."

"Liar. What else?"

"Alice, I don't wanna-"

"What. Else."

Emily blew a big breath out her lips and scratched at the cut on her cheek, refusing to make eye contact now. "They said you were a lesbian."

That hit Alice right in the stomach and she turned away, busying herself with straightening the first aid kit and wiping down the counter. She had never even uttered that word to herself, and hearing it out loud and aimed right at her scared her more than he knew how to handle. Alice had hoped that she'd grow out of her feelings for other girls, that she'd find a boy in high school that would make her want to be straight. But when that didn't happen, she at least had prayed that no one would ever suspect that she- the quiet, bookish, plain class president- was a lesbian.

Collecting herself, Alice shook her head. "Is that a bad thing? It's not insulting to be a lesbian, so it's not insulting to be called one, don't you think?"

"No, shit, don't twist my words! That's not what I meant."

"Well then what did you mean, because you obviously thought you should fight them over that," Alice snapped and slammed the lid to the first aid kit down.

"Alice, no, I don't think it's bad, I'm just-"

"Then what? Why did it even matter?" Alice could feel her throat closing up from trying not to cry.

"Because they called you a fucking _dyke_!" Emily's voice cracked and Alice looked at her in surprise. There was a wet streak running down Emily's right cheek, and she was trying to keep the tears from running onto the bandage on her left. "They called you _that_ and I was so fucking pissed off, I couldn't handle it, I couldn't let it go, I just-" Emily sobbed into her hands and Alice sank to her knees in front of her, touched and confused and scared.

"Emily, shhhh, don't cry. It's not worth it. It's not worth it." Alice slowly lifted Emily's face and wiped away the tear marks on her face, mascara smearing against her thumb. She smoothed down Emily's hair and tucked it behind her ears, at a loss for what to do. Emily's face was still crumpled up, angry and terrified, but also genuinely sad, and it was all Alice could do to not cry herself. Alice kissed her quickly on the forehead, then pulled her into a hug, letting her sniffle on her shoulder.

"You're so good to me, you know that? I don't know anyone else who would have defended me like that. And you shouldn't have. I wish you hadn't. But I'm happy I have such a good friend-"

"Stop-"

"No, you are. You're a good friend."

Emily struggled out of her embrace. "Stop saying that! I know, okay? I _know_. And that's why- I know you're not- I mean...whatever you are, I am too, so when they said that-"

"I don't understand," Alice said, panic rising in her throat.

Shaking her head emphatically, Emily kept rambling."I couldn't let it go, I love you so much- I mean, I _love you_ and...it's just not _fair_! I can't. I just want to- awww, fuck it!"

Before Alice could react, Emily had grabbed her face and kissed her right on the mouth. Alice registered the sticky cold tears stuck between their skin and the heady smell of soap and anti-bacterial ointment before her brain processed Emily's beat up mouth against her own. When she finally realized she was being kissed, warmth flooded her face and stomach and she found she couldn't move her arms. A happy terror filled her chest, and even though the kiss seemed to last a lifetime, it was over far too soon.

As Emily pulled away, Alice could taste a faint metallic tang, unsure if it was blood or the iron bite of nerves. Emily's eyes were halfway closed, dreamy for a moment. When she came back to herself, her eyes widened and her face paled and she pushed Alice way. Slumping down ungracefully onto the bathmat, Alice couldn't think of anything to say. Emily's mouth opened and closed twice, then she covered her face with shaking hands, rubbing her eyes and making a bigger mess of her mascara. She leapt up suddenly from the toilet lid and and stepped over Alice clumsily, shooting panicked glances between Alice, the mirror and the door.

"I- wow, I'm...sorry, I have to go. Thank you, sorry. I just- thanks for the- sorry, I have to...bye."

Alice sat dumbfounded, unable to move until she heard the front door slam. Then she burst out into a fit of ecstatic, weepy laughter. This afternoon had had too many twists and turns to unravel just yet, but Alice knew that it could be the beginning of something wonderful.


End file.
